Breaking Fears
by WeirdWarrior
Summary: Nine months after the fall of SHIELD, Natasha finds herself in the last place she would ever expect: Avenger's Tower. Now she has to learn how to survive living with someone who actually managed to make her fear for her life: Bruce Banner. Book #1 of series; A Beautiful Tragedy.
1. Oh yes! Evolution,

`It's about nine months after the fall of SHIELD, nine months after Natasha dumped all the files of SHIELD onto the internet; for anyone to see with just a click of the button, all of her files...everyone can see she has done, nothing can stop them. It wasn't just her files, though, it was all of them, everyone on the Avengers, everyone in SHIELD; all of it. The only who's probably receiving the same amount of heat is Bruce, he's the only one with a rap sheet that's as long as hers. But if it was possible, Natasha actually has one longer than the Hulk's, an impossible feat, it sounded like, but she accomplished it by the ripe old of 25.

Nine months after Natasha lost all of her covers and she set herself on a journey to find a new one.

It's a lot easier to say it than to actually do it.

Sometimes Natasha can just be walking down the street and some people will recognize her, recognize what she's done, and turn away. Every once in a while, Natasha wished she never dumped everything, all of their could've at least remained somewhat normal, their last bit of privacy could've remained it tact; but there was a bigger to think about, and Natasha always had to think about the bigger picture, that burden always fell upon her shoulders and it pinned her to the dirt.

Natasha wasn't really sure where the journey of finding a new cover would take her, but she knew she had to get away, start fresh. But it took her everywhere, Arizona, Alaska, New Zealand; Natasha thought about going to Switzerland, but then she realized that's probably the last piece of land that doesn't handle war, she wouldn't want to ruin that by heading over there and having all of her troubles follow. She kept moving, leaving, jumping ship, never stayed in the same place for long; everyone knows her name now, that's a whole new territory, one that Natasha was not prepared for, but was handling it anyways.

She hasn't had much contact with Clint or Steve over the last nine months, or anyone for that matter, somehow Fury might manage to get a hold of her, Natasha stopped trying to figure out how he did that a long time ago. She never tries to contact the rest of team, she's never really formed a bond with them. The only time Natasha has ever met up with them, is when she has to go on missions, but she's only done a few with them over the last nine months; and by a few, she meant two. There was one in Morocco with Clint, it went simple enough; there was some guys selling alien artifacts they picked up from New York, it was a simple clean up. The guy was pretty dumb, gave up right away, then Clint went back to New York, and Natasha went to...she doesn't remember, to be honest. If she went on mission, she went to find a new place to live once she came back, didn't want any parties picking up her scent. The second mission Natasha went on, was with Tony, needless to say she was not happy about that, but she kept a professional manner, it was in Quebec, of all places. This mission wasn't as clean cut, though, they were spotted, Tony was in the line of fire so she pushed out of the way, got a bullet on the right side of her abdomen. It was a flesh wound, though, nothing serious.

Quebec was about two months ago, after she got out of medical Natasha 'borrowed' a quinjet and got out as quick as she could. She punched in the first the destination she could think of on the GPS, Natasha left it on Auto Pilot, because as much as she hated to admit it, the wound wore her out, and she needed to sleep.

Now Natasha was at her newest stop, Nairobi, some city in Kenya. She was living in a small little hut on the outskirts of the city, she probably could've picked a quieter place to live, but as troubles go, it was very quiet. Sometimes she might run into drug dealers, or some and idiot with a gun, but nothing that would break a sweat. The walls of the hut were mostly made of twigs and fabric, a simple holding, but it did it's job, it was just one big room, Natasha's bed was just a hammock of a very itchy fabric, there was a small clay fireplace for her to cook food, a ceramic bowl and mirror with a pitcher consisted of the bathroom, but it was more like a washing area. It was very simple, nothing more than the bare necessities, but it was also nothing more than what Natasha needed, it was enough, enough to live by.

She was standing in front of the very dusty and dirty mirror, Natasha lifted her shirt and it revealed her bandaging for the gunshot. She started to pull of the white gauze-which was more like a pale yellow by how often she gets dirty, and muddy here-layer by layer, it came off, until it was nothing more than Natasha's pale skin (Russians don't tan). By now, the wound was completely healed, it left nothing more than a barely noticeable scar. A ripple of silvery rope across what used to be perfection.

Natasha pulled her shirt back down, and tossed the gauze in the fireplace-might as well not let it go to waste-she also wiped her brow free of the sweat that was running freely down her body. It was Africa, it was hot; Natasha was used to cold more than anything else, but oh well. She was wearing a dark green shirt with a dark green button up that was unbutton and the sleeves went all the way to her wrists, she also had dark green shorts with a dark brown belt, and light brown combat boots.

 _Bang!_

 _Bang!_

 _Bang!_

The hairs on her neck instantly stood straight like a pole, Natasha pulled the gun out from under her shirt and ran out to see what was happening. It was absolute chaos. There were people running everywhere, running through little stores and shops, jumping out of windows to get away. The sounds of children crying, people screaming, and the 'bang' of bullets filled her ears. Natasha didn't see any guns, though, just a hoard of people practically trampling over each other.

She tried to step out into the street further to get a better view, but there were so many people, that made that task alone nearly impossible. Natasha pushed her way through, shoving past at least fifty people, she had to use a little force to make her way through to the middle; eventually she made it, only getting a little bruised. But then...It was in times like these Natasha wished she was just a few inches taller, her line of sight was completely obstructed by everyone else, and her tiny legs. Then she saw it, to her left was an apartment building that was around four stories, that will definitely give her a better view.

Natasha forced her way back to the side of the street, thankfully it was less crowed over there so she could have more room. Natasha looked around to see which way was best to do this, it was a four story building and each apartment has a black railed balcony. She thought about maybe running inside and finding the staircase to get to the roof, but that would take to much time, too many people to get through, so that idea was blacked out. Climbing it is then. How to get to the first balcony was a problem, though, it was easily twenty feet out of reach. Natasha looked around and spotted a small wooden crate-probably used for carrying fruit-she stepped up onto the crate, looking for the next step of her plan. Natasha looked to her left and out of the corner of her eye Natasha saw a hook that was used for a clothing line; and, light bulb. It was pretty far out of Natasha's reach but it was the closet thing to her, she stood on the tips of her toes and outstretched her arm as far as it could go, and then some. Natasha barely grabbed it with the tips of her fingers, but once she a firm grip on it-or the best she could do-she started to twist to the left which was not easy because it meant for the hook to go even further out of her reach. It was really wedged in the wall, which meant she really had to put her back into it and have an iron grip on the hook. She kept twisting it to the left until the curved part of the hook faced up, satisfied with her work, Natasha let go of the hook and it left a burning sensation in her hand from how hard she gripped it.

Now, comes the hard part.

Natasha used her right hand, and had a firm grasp on the hook; she used the leverage of her entire body, shifting her weight just so, and started to pull herself up. She used the muscles of arm, her back, her core, she felt them pulling, stretching, and twisting until her entire body was above the hook, only held on by her hand. Natasha kept in her handstand position, and felt herself shaking on the inside from work of her muscles, beads of sweat worked down her body, because one wrong move and her head would land on the crate. Game Over; or as Natasha liked to call it; just another Tuesday.

With a flick of her wrist, Natasha twisted her body so she faced the other side of the street instead of down the road. She gently pressed her feet against the wall of the building, tapping the heel of her feet along it until she felt the railings of the balcony. Natasha kept going further to the right, trying to feel for the metal; she eventually heard the 'ping' and hardness of the railing. She wrapped her legs around the railing as if it were a neck of a mark, once Natasha had a tight grip of the railing she let go of the hook, and she was now just dangling in the air, only holding on by her legs. She used her whole body to pull herself up, like a simple pull up at the gym, and used her arms to grip to the top of the railing. Natasha let her feet go undone, now she was only holding on by her hands, she used her muscles to do another handstand-but at least she could use both hands this time-and her legs wrapped around the leg of the bottom of the second railing above her. Natasha let her hands go on the railing to pull herself up once more. She kept doing this cycle of some roly-poly on crack until got to the roof.

Once Natasha got to the roof, she ran to the edge to get a good look of what was going on. It was a group of men with machine guns, two men were on a four wheeler, running everything down in the streets, there was also a few more men on foot, shooting everything down in their path. People were fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them, gripping onto their children's wrist like their life depended on it, screaming and crying at the top of their lungs. Natasha wasn't sure which was louder-the rapid of fire of machine guns or the screaming-because both were pretty overwhelming.

Natasha began to walk backwards on the roof, away from the edge to get a good distance for a running start; and then she charged. Natasha ran as quick as her feet could take her, and she jumped, Natasha flew in the air for at least a good twenty feet dive. Once she got close to the four wheeler, Natasha outstretched an arm and curved it around the neck of the first guy she could reach, she had his neck in an arm lock and she twisted her body so his would go over her shoulder and slam onto the ground while Natasha crouched down on the four wheeler. Natasha made really good timing, because when he hit the ground his was right by the wheeler and his head was smashed in by the back wheels. Not how Natasha expected that to go, but oh well.

 _One down._

As soon as Natasha landed down on the four wheeler, the other man's eyes went so wide that if they went any further they would fall out of his head. Either finding someone jumping on a four wheeler, scared the crap out of him, or he knew who she was; maybe it was both. Natasha decided to give him a little smirk-like an innocent child-before she grabbed his head and slammed it onto the handles, and then in her crouched position she threw out one of her legs to sweep under him,and the guy went flying off into a fruit stand.

 _That makes two._

In front of her, Natasha saw around four men with a machine gun for each, shooting down everyone, then she realized that she was on a huge piece of heavy-duty machinery, and mouth curled into a smirk once more. Natasha moved her body for it to actually sit down on the four wheeler, and then she floored it. She looked around for something heavy and small, easily hand held, and then behind her Natasha saw a stack of weapons, including very small pistols. Without swerving over, she reached behind her and grabbed on of the pistols and jammed it into the gas pedal, so it would keep going with out her. At first, Natasha thought against this plan, she didn't want to kill anyone else that is innocent-but then she realized that almost all heavy foot traffic is behind her, which meant these guys were heading for the city. Oh no, no today.

Natasha stood back into a crouched position once she had someone in view, and jumped off of the four wheeler onto his back, the guy instantly started flailing in an attempt to get her off. But that wasn't going to happen, unless she wanted that to happen. Natasha wrapped her legs around his neck and used his machine gun under his jaw to jerk his body backwards so she wouldn't get run over, she knocked them back into some sort of stand, barely missing the four wheeler. The guy was about to move again to attack but Natasha slammed the butt of the his gun into forehead, knocking him out instantly.

 _Three._

She pushes the guy off of her-he was big-and stands up, carefully making her way out of rubble of the stand, while dusting off her knees. Natasha sees another guy off in the distance and she makes her way running. He was far out of her way, while running Natasha even passed four wheeler which had slowed down after going over some fruit that was knocked out of a stand. She eventually caught up to him, but probably after taking all of the others down, he already knew she was there; the guy knelt down, grabbing onto Natasha's ankle, flipping her over. He went down to straddle her, his fist began to make a target for her face, but Natasha kept her face jerking side to side, narrowly avoiding his punches. Every time his fist hit the ground, dirt flew everywhere, and that gave her an idea; after deciding enough was enough, and was tired of playing a game of dodge, Natasha reached around in the ground and grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it in the guy's face. He instantly stopped punching her for his hands fly up to cover his face, which gave Natasha the opportunity to flip them over. The guy was still groaning from the dirt, which gave her an opening, she used her hand to swipe at the point between his shoulder and neck, he was out like a light.

 _Four._

Around thirty feet in front of Natasha was another man, but this situation was a little different, because he had his gun aimed at someone; a five year old boy. There wasn't enough time to get over there, there was nothing she could do; she began to hear her own heart race while thinking of a way to save him. Just then, the four wheeler passed Natasha once more, and there it was; without taking her eyes off of the boy, she grabbed the pistol she jammed in the gas pedal, stopping the engine instantly. Natasha went for the head, and then man crumbled down like a twig in the wind. The boy took off, like a rocket, and Natasha allowed herself to breathe, for a second. She stood up, and dusted the dirt off of her; seriously, there was a lot of dirt.

 _Five._

For a moment, Natasha thought it was all over, that she took out the last of the bunch. So, why were the hairs on the back of her still standing? _Crap_... Natasha whipped her head around and saw on the other side of the street that there was another man pointing a gun at her. She felt weight back in her hand, like an alert, and she pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger; but nothing happened. _Seriously? I got scraps?_ That made her mad. The other guy must've noticed that Natasha had no ammo, because next thing she knows, he's smirking. All Natasha wanted to do was slap it off.

But before Natasha had a chance to do that, there was a 'whirring' sound and the guy dropped like a fly. _You have got to be kidding me..._ There was only was person that could do that. Natasha held back a groan and instead said. "I had that guy." She called out to the guy behind her.

"Sure you did," He quipped sarcastically, while walking up to stand next to her. The Iron Man suit making small 'clanking' noises as he went. Tony stared down at the guy on the ground behind the mask, trying to figure out exactly who it was, before turning his head to face Natasha. "Friend of yours?" He asked in a tone that sounded like he was asking in all seriousness, but Tony was just joking.

Natasha blew out a frustrated breath through her nose and glared at Tony. Oh, how much she wanted to punch him. But Tony was right; she definitely did not have that guy, but she'll never admit that out loud. She crouched down and grabbed a knife from her boot and started to cut the guy's shirt off, to see if there was anything there. But of course, Natasha couldn't do anything like that, without gaining a comment from Tony. "Wow, kinky," Tony muttered, the man did not have an off switch.

But, amazingly, Natasha found it in her to completely ignore that comment. When she opened his shirt she found a tattoo of a tribal mask with two spears behind it, making an 'X', and at the point of each spear, was a skull. It proved her suspicions were real; good. "Local gang." Natasha told Tony. Any sort of scar, or tattoo can be the mark of a gang. She's seen these guys around a couple times, mostly stay quiet, until now. They usually just deal with drugs, but now they've upped it murder. They were stupid to do it, though, when she was just around the corner; and apparently so was Tony. "Sorry to say, they're not in my contacts." Natasha quipped while standing up. She looked at the big suit of armor in front of her, a million thoughts running through her head. Starting with, _can I kill him?_ Because she really hoped the answer was 'yes'. Instead, she went for something more logical. "Reason for making an appearance, Stark?" Natasha questioned.

Tony looked around in all directions above his head, his left, his right, thinking of an answer to give her. "Giraffes?" He lamely offered after a few moments.

Natasha couldn't hold back the small groan that escaped her lips, nor did she care. She bent down to reach for the machine gun-probably best that these aren't just left laying around-and threw the strap over her shoulder. She began to walk away, because Natasha knew exactly why Tony was there. He's done a few times before and she thought he finally got the message, but apparently that was a big 'no'. He came to move her into the Tower, where all the rest of the Avengers are, where Natasha isn't. That was not going to happen. "Go home, Stark." She said, while not looking back.

"Sentry mode." Tony ordered, and the suit opened up wide for him to step out, and it clamped up behind him. He wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, not without Natasha. But she kept on moving, she was determined to ignore him, to get to the hidden quinjet and fly out to her next destination. She was stubborn, but Natasha must've forgot, because, so is Tony. "How's the gunshot?" He asked out of curiosity and a tactic to stall her, but also out of general concern. Tony was right next to Natasha when she got shot, and even though Tony knew it was a flesh wound, it didn't stop his heart from hammering inside his chest.

To his surprise and relief, Natasha actually stopped in her tracks and turned around to face him. She just glared at him, and if looks could kill, Tony would be six feet under. But his managed to keep his fear inside, and kept a calm posture and just simply stared back. Which is not the response Natasha wanted, so she upped the gaming field. While keeping Tony under her glare, Natasha moved forward, hoping that if she was in his face, he would cave and leave. But even when Natasha was right there, Tony did not falter; even though is was extremely annoying, she had to give props to the man. She studied his face, and she was almost surprised when she found concern hidden in his gaze; it surprised her that, Tony Stark, cared about her well being. It surprised Natasha when anyone besides Clint, or Steve cared about; but she managed to keep it hidden behind her mask. "Healed." Natasha stated, remembering taking off the gauze this morning to find it completely healed. She backed off a little to give the both a little bit of breathing room.

"Good..." Tony muttered under his breath, sounding generally relived. "So, was this the latest stop in 'Romanoff's Grand World Tour'?" He asked, gesturing to the surrounding area. He knew that she's been going everywhere since the fall of SHIELD, running all over the world, doing her best to stay away. It reminded him a lot of Bruce, the guy was a master at running away, he was doing for years, ever since he turned into the Hulk, but Tony manage to put a stopper in that. Now he was going to have to put a stopper in this. "No one's really heard from you." He didn't hold his concern back from that comment, Clint barely manage to get a peep out of Natasha in the last nine months; and if that man couldn't get her to talk, then there was a definite problem.

"You know," Natasha started, letting the threatening tone seep into her voice. "When people keep quiet, that's usually code for 'they want to be left alone'," There was definitely a threat hidden in there, letting Tony know he was stepping in harsh waters. "I guess it's hard for some people to understand that concept." She wanted to walk away, to leave him in the dust, but then Tony would just follow, so wouldn't so Natasha any good. She had to make him, if that was even possible; but if there was any that could do it, it's Natasha.

But Tony just decided to nose dive in the water. "Oh no, I understand completely," He corrected. " I just don't care." He said in a completely feigned, innocent tone. Because he really didn't. One way or another, he was bringing Natasha back with him to New York, Tony did not care how long it was going to take him.

"You're not dragging me back there." She warned him, there was no way Natasha would ever live with her teammates. Tony has tried to a few times, and failed each time, it only took a few minutes for him to leave, then Natasha would find the quinjet because her location had been compromised.

"Is 'dragging' the only way to bring you back?" Tony asked, but it sounded like there was a deeper meaning that she didn't feel like thinking about.

Natasha was about to say 'yes' but the word died on her lips, and she went with a different approach. "Asking out of curiosity, or are you taking notes?" By no means was she going to give something in Tony's favor. Natasha unconsciously crossed her arms in front of her chest, creating a barrier between her Tony, distancing herself.

"Neither." Tony stated simply, it didn't pique his interests, and he wasn't saving it in some sort of internal data bank; it was useless. "I need you to come back willingly, If I drag you, you'll just claw your way out." Tony would love if he could just put Natasha in a cage and send her back to New York, but things would go very poorly, very quickly. The amount of catastrophic things that could go wrong in that situation, is too big to count. He had a thousand ways to get her out, but it will only work if she actually wants to come.

"You're not wrong." See? "So stop wasting your breath." Natasha bit out. She pivoted on her feet and turned to leave. Wondering why Tony was fighting so hard for this, he never this hard before, it bothered her, irked her. Why would someone fight so hard for her? It just doesn't make any sense. Natasha was already planning her next destination in her head, since this one is no longer a viable option. Greenland? Paris? Russia? Oh no, scratch that last one, bad idea. It would be nice to maybe smack Tony upside the head before leaving, just get it all out, all of her frustrations, all of her anger, all of her tiredness; but Natasha was not about to falter, not now. She's gone this far, she can go a little bit further, she wasn't about to drop her mask in front of him. She turned to leave and-

"I'll keep wasting my breath." It made Natasha stop dead in her tracks once again. His voice sounded so sure, so arrogant, like always.

She turned around to look at Tony, eye to eye, and for once, Natasha had no idea what she saw. She couldn't get a good read on him, Tony was just simply stared at her, and it made her blood boil. She had no idea what game he was playing, what angle. Natasha wasn't at the head of the chessboard, like she almost always is, and it bothered her. Natasha dawned her 'face of death' as a way to distance herself even more than what she has already done. "Why are you fighting so hard for this? Four months ago-you were gone in five minutes. What changed?" Four months ago was the last time Tony tried to pick her up, Natasha was somewhere in the Virgin Islands, he left as quick as he came, but not this time; why?

Tony knew she was putting up this icy exterior as a way to push people away, but it wasn't going to work on him. He's been doing the whole push people away thing since he was a teenager, he didn't want to be hurt, and it was the best way to find out who really cared. But Tony also knew that isn't why Natasha was pushing him away, she was pushing him, because it was such a hard concept for her to grasp that someone actually cared. "I could say that I made a bet with Barton, but that only takes up 12% of reasoning." Clint made the stupid mistake of betting Tony, it was almost too easy. Natasha dryly raised her eyebrow at that. "It's not a secret, we don't get along very well." That is very true. They claw each other's eyes out whenever they get a chance. That whole 'Natashalie' seriously ruined a chance at friendship. Tony already has trust issues, and it did not help when he found out that his hot assistant is actually a killer assassin/government spy. "Four months ago, I didn't trust you. The whole 'Natashalie situation' threw a serious kink in the matter of trust." Tony didn't feel like playing with kid gloves, he knew Natasha could take it. He's right. Natasha could take it, she was beyond use to someone saying to her 'I don't trust you'. "But then _two_ months ago, Quebec happened, you took a bullet for me." Tony said while gesturing to where Natasha was shot. "And someone who takes a bullet for me-in my book-is someone I can trust." It kind of surprised Natasha that something like that, turned the wheels in Tony's mind. She just took control of the situation, no heroics. Why was it so important? "Now, I'm not saying we're going to become best buds, and braid each other's hair," Of course, he has to throw something like that in. "Just saying; I trust you now." Tony said with a shrug, trying to keep this as casual as possible, because he just went kind of deep a second ago, and that is not something he is comfortable. "That's what changed."

Natasha didn't mean to-but for a second-her mask came off, and her expression was in complete shock. She was in shock by what Tony just told her, that he trusts her, just because of a mission, because of a bullet, he trusts her. It always came as a shock when somebody told Natasha that they trust, and it was an even more shock when _Tony Stark_ told her 'I trust you', it was definitely not what she expected. But once Natasha realized that her mask came off, it went back on, she refused to come off as vulnerable, she would rather be cold, and distant, than that. "That's a nice story, maybe you can tell it to your kids one day." Natasha bit out.

Natasha turned to leave once more, probably the fifth time she's done it, so far; and again Tony stopped her, he refused to let her win, _and_ he refused to Clint win; no way was Tony ever going to lose a bet. "Aren't you tired?" Tony called out to her after she was a few feet away.

He made Natasha stop, again and she was getting a little tired of it, so before turning around, she dipped her head to sigh. "What?" Natasha asked as she turned around for the hundred, millionth time.

"Tired?" Tony repeated. "From doing this whole..." He waved his hand around, thinking of the right word. "Shtick." He knows if was just running around the world to get away, jumping ship whenever, would wear him out. Tony knows enough from when he's seen Bruce come home after running around the world. The bags under his eyes are far more noticeable than they usually, his hair is in disarray, and Tony can actually feel Bruce's bones creak. Natasha just blankly stared at him, clearly not wanting to answer the question. So, he went with a different approach. "For nine months you've been running around to find a new cover. What? You haven't found one yet?" Tony asked, knowing that this was completely pointless for her to do.

"Still looking." Natasha answered simply, as if there was nothing more to say, even though there was so much more to say.

"Oh, cut the bull crap." Tony was finally fed up with all this dancing around, he wanted get straight to the source. Natasha raised a single eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest, testing him to go further; but Tony didn't really care at that point. "The only cover you need, is yourself; Natasha Romanoff, Avenger." He said in a very stern tone, letting Natasha know that he was running on fumes. Tony practically wanted to scream it to her that she didn't need a cover anymore, that could just be herself; to just be an Avenger.

But Natasha didn't know how to do that, she didn't know how to just drop every cover, every wall that separated her from everything else. This is all Natasha knows, she's been learning since she was eight, this is how her brain was wired. How was she suppose to do everything differently at the drop of a hat? Natasha thought about waving him off, coming up with another snarky answer, but for some reason, she couldn't come up with the energy for it. "I don't know how to do that." Natasha let her tiredness seep through her answer, she didn't even try to stop it, there was just nothing left in her.

All thoughts of fighting off Tony, and finding the quinjet, left her; all Natasha wanted to do was take a nap. Because the answer was 'yes', she was tired of running, she's been doing it all of her life, she is so tired of playing spy when there's no one handing her the role. Natasha isn't a spy anymore, the one place she thought she was actually starting to do some good at, was actually a front for an evil organization; and Natasha was playing for them, handing them all the pieces to the puzzle without even realizing it. Natasha wanted to believe that she changed for the better, but she never did; the only thing she is, is a killer. And that's all Natasha will ever be.

Tony's eyes softened at that. He never really thought of it that way, he didn't factor in her past to the equation. He didn't know everything about Natasha, but he did read her file, his curiosity got the better of him; but he also knows that her file is pretty small for how it should actually be. All this woman knows, is how to kill, at least, that's what Natasha thinks; when in reality, she knows so much more, but she has to realize that for herself, it won't do her any good coming from Tony's mouth. "Then come to the Tower, and we can show you how."

He never really thought he would make a gesture like that to Natasha, someone he never thought he would trust, but he's standing there, and saying those words, and all that Tony is hoping for; is that Natasha accepts it.

* * *

Bruce was in the elevator, he was on the back to his apartment in the Tower after spending a full day in the lab. He was helping Tony work on some new weapon for the his suit, of course, Tony wasn't even there, he said he to leave for business but didn't say exactly what it was. Tony didn't even take off in the quinjet, he just used his suit, saying he'll be back later. Bruce was used to Tony doing things like that, random things that made no sense, so he just ignored it; but when Bruce asked what he was going to do-because usually when he asks, Tony will answer him-Tony just waved him off, and flew away.

So, Bruce just shrugged it off and went to the lab to work on his suit. He was testing out the repulsors on some makeshift targets, there were quite a few errors; but at least there was only one fire, and a tiny explosion. Weapon's making, was not Bruce's forte, he preferred working with chemicals and stuff like that, but being on the Avengers for two years have grown his knowledge of making weapons; but he still has a long way to go. Bruce has spent a lot of time on working on making arrows, it's insane the amount Clint goes through in a week; but the ting Bruce has honed his skill in more than anything else since joining the Avengers, is medicine. If you think the amount of arrows Clint goes through is crazy, the amount of times he has had to stitch someone up, will blow your mind. Someone is always getting stabbed, shot or blown up, falling off buildings; the works. No matter how many times Bruce will them to be more careful, they're back in the exam room the next day. He also spent a lot of time testing the scanners in the suit for heat signatures and such. He tried to work out the folding in the suit, to fit inside a suitcase, and almost lost a finger in the process. He kept rewiring one way, and then another, then back to the way before. Needless to say, the other did not enjoy doing all that work on the suits almost as much as Bruce himself, be he managed to keep him in check and not destroy the lab.

Now he was in the elevator on his way back to his room, his tired form barely holding himself up. Bruce was probably going to crash on his bed, even though he most likely won't get any sleep, or at least not much. But Bruce just needed to get out of the lab after spending about twenty, straight hours in there. Having things blown up in your face really takes it out of you. He might just grab a cup of tea, and maybe pass out on the couch. He also really needed to take a second, and just let the other guy calm down, or else there will be some major problems that won't be so easy to fix as tinkering with a metal, armored suit, or stitching someone up.

But Bruce's plans were put to a sudden a halt; his apartment is on the 89th floor, but for some reason it stopped on the 53rd. Bruce pulled himself off the wall where he was leaning against and stared at the number in confusion, wondering why the elevator just stopped. Was there some sort of malfunction? Is this another prank? Because has had to deal with a lot of those since moving into the Tower. He was about to ask Jarvis what was going on, but then he found out why, all of a sudden the doors slid open, and Tony waltzed in; Bruce had to do a double take, making sure he was really there.

That wasn't what he expected, he thought Tony would be at least gone for a full day, not just a few hours. But there her was, just casually walking into the elevator and pressing the button for the lab. Of course, because where else would Tony go after spending an entire day flying to who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what? He just simply walked inside and shoved his hands inside his pockets, staring at the doors like he was pretending that Bruce wasn't even there. Which meant only one thing...Tony was hiding something.

Bruce was definitely going to find out what it was, but he had to take his time and not rush things. You can't pry something out of someone, you have to coax it out, make yourself seem nonthreatening. So, he put on the same casual persona and went back to leaning against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms. A wave of silence washed over the two as no one said anything, both of them were waiting for the right moment. Bruce listened to pull of the elevator going across the thick, strong cable for support. He watched as the numbers went higher, and higher to get to where his apartment was. 57th. 58th. 59th. Pretty soon Bruce was going to run out of time to ask Tony what was going on, and what happened, so he just jumped right into the deep end. "So, uh, how was the trip." Bruce opened up, still looking at the doors, trying to come off as casual as possible.

Tony was also watching the doors, thinking of how exactly to break some certain news to him that he would not be happy about. So, he also tried to make this as casual as possible, like talking about the weather. "It was good. Saw a giraffe." Tony answered with a slight nod, even though he never actually saw a giraffe. He was too busy with machine guns, and red heads.

That threw Bruce off course, giraffe? The only information he received when Tony left was that he was leaving. "Giraffe...?" He nodded and said like he was saying 'cool' or 'sweet'. "You went to Africa?" He questioned, at least he was gaining some information, little by little, but at least Bruce had something.

"Yeah, there was a..." Tony trailed off for a second, he was stuck in a slight rut, thinking of a way to answer to Bruce's question. He didn't want to give anything right away, he had to take his time. "Gifted student." He finally decided that would be a good enough answer. "Wanted to see if he was actually worth his salt for a job here." He never went there to check out a gifted student, but Tony does do that all the time. He hears about all the gifted people that live in poverty or don't have enough money to go to college. So he travels all around the world, and offers them a job at Stark Industries, or give them money for a scholarship. After making all of those weapons which killed millions of people, Tony wanted to find a way to give back, because being Iron Man just didn't ever feel like enough. It never felt like enough, but at least he was doing something.

"Was he?" Bruce asked, knowing that there was no student. All those years of learning how to suppress his anger, were definitely paying off in that moment.

Tony actually turned to face Bruce when this next question. "Who was what?" Tony asked in confusion, completely forgetting about the excuse he made just a few seconds ago, his brain was not his friend in this moment.

Bruce just stared at him blankly for a good minute. Wondering if it was a good idea to Hulk out or not in the confined space of the elevator. He then realized that was actually a horrible idea, and decided against it, and instead answered with, "The student." He gritted out through his teeth to Tony, who was now sweating a little bit, which made Bruce feel a little bit better. Most people would be freaked out by the fact that Bruce felt better because he was making his best friend sweat, but it just meant that he had control of the situation, the upper hand.

It took a few seconds for Tony to come up with what he was going to say next, fearing for his life as he was getting than man who housed the Hulk-irritated. "He was, uh..." Tony started, thinking about how Natasha took down five grown men with just her bare hands. He actually watched the entire fight from behind the scenes, and saw when that guy's skull was crushed under the four wheeler, and how she scaled the front of the building. "Very talented, but I think he just wanted to stay there." He said after a few seconds of deciphering what to say, remembering when he was in Africa trying to convince Natasha to come and move into the Tower. The woman was very stubborn, might even be more stubborn than him.

"Shame..." Bruce replied, looking back to the cool, steel doors.

"Really was..." Tony also turned back to the doors, still sweating, but remained a cool composure.

Bruce turned his head back to watching the numbers go up, and up. 67th. 68th. 69th. He could feel the vibrations beneath his feet as elevator moved to his floor. He was trying to think of something else to bring up, before Bruce would lose his cool and physically rip it out of Tony. Because now it was beyond evident that whatever he was hiding, had something to do with Bruce, and one way or another he was going to find out. Then he remembered this one tidbit of information that could help. "Did you really need to bring your suit on this, uh..." Bruce took a second to think of the right word. " _Scouting_ trip?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, even though Tony couldn't see it.

"I like to make an entrance." Tony simply replied, because he really did. It was a basic fact about him, you could just read about him on the internet and learn that about him within the first sentence of the article. Tony didn't add any details to it, he decided it was best not to say that the reason he needed the suit was because of men with guns, and Natasha.

Bruce didn't make any noise of acknowledgement, just continued to watch the bright, blue numbers on the screen that kept increasing in size. He was waiting for the right moment to further into the conversation instead of this small talk, which was getting him nowhere. But Bruce wasn't exactly sure how to do that. What would he open up with? Would he play good cop, or bad cop? Did he even want to know the information that Tony was hiding from him? Or were things best kept unknown? But then again, if Tony was keeping this information away from Bruce, then it was bound to blow up in his face, sooner or later. So, it doesn't really matter how pretty the package is, only what's inside.

 _Screw it._ "Okay, that's it. No more galavanting around the elephant," Bruce finally had it up to here, and couldn't take it any longer. He turned to fully face Tony, and he looked back at him in confusement. "If you don't tell me what you're hiding from me, I will tell Pepper that every night you go to bed, you sneak off once she's asleep to work in the lab, and sneak back into to bed every morning before she wakes up." Bruce threatened, telling the complete truth, because he knew that would get Tony to finally cave in.

Tony stared at him with wide eyes at the threat Bruce just made before making them into slits, and pointed a threatening finger at him to emphasize his point. "You wouldn't d-"

"Jarvis?" Bruce called out to the A.I., proving Tony wrong in an instant.

"Calling Miss Potts' mobile." Jarvis' voice sounded out through the speakers in the elevator.

"Traitor!" Tony yelled to Jarvis in astonishment.

 _"Hello?"_ Pepper's voice came through next, and Tony went as pale as a ghost. He proceeded to stare down Bruce, to see if he was really going to do it, he testing him out. Bruce just raised an eyebrow in return. _"Tony?"_ Pepper asked next, after it was silent for too long. Bruce opened his mouth to tell Pepper everything he just promised to do.

"Sorry-honey-butt-dial." Tony said in one breath and had Jarvis hung up the phone. If Pepper knew he was spending more time than he already was in the lab, Pepper would have his head for sure. A lot of time when Tony is in bed, asleep, he usually ends up having a nightmare, which scares Pepper even more. He doesn't want to worry her more than he already has, so he just goes down to the lab and works to clear his mind. Bruce that he did it, too, because a lot of nights-not every night-he'll spend his nights in the lab, too, mostly just to keep Tony company, but also not to think of all the things that clouded his mind. He tried to get Tony back to bed, but it never worked, so he just stopped trying. 77th. 78th. 79th. "Okay, fine," Tony started with a deep breath. This was not going to go well. He straightened his posture, as to make himself feel more in control, and definitely not as terrified as felt for what he was about to say. "There was no student. I went to Africa because it was Romanoff's last known location. We talked, and let's just say..." Tony stopped for a second to take another deep breath, because the next part was the big news. And it was already getting worse by the second. Bruce's face was completely calm, but Tony knew that was only because of years of suppressing the Hulk; inside, Bruce was anything but 'calm'. "Her apartment will now finally be occupied." Tony finished with a clear of his throat. It took a lot of convincing, but Natasha finally said 'okay'.

Bruce said nothing, he just stared.

85th.

He was watching Tony, seeing if he was going to give any indication of fear. But Tony just stared back, not willing to give in.

86th.

Bruce could actually hear the other guy growling in the back of his mind.

87th.

Tony nearly caved when-for a second-he thought a saw a glimpse of green in Bruce's eyes, but it disappeared too quickly for him to be sure. This was not going well.

88th.

The other guy kept clawing at Bruce's chest, practically yelling at him to crush him.

89th.

There was a 'ding' the only sound there has been in that elevator for the thirty, or so seconds.

The doors slid open to where Bruce's apartment was further down the hallway, but he made no indication of leaving, neither did Tony. They just kept staring at each other, not even noticing the doors.

The doors slid to a close after about 15 seconds.

Bruce finally opened his mouth, after getting enough control of emotions to not have the other guy lash out, effectively crushing Tony and elevator, which would eventually lead to the whole destruction of all of New York; bad idea. "You. Did." He spoke those first two words in a very, calm manner; but it was only because he was seething. "What?!" His voice turned into a whisper-shout with the last word. Bruce could've asked something else, or at least added something more, but the amount of anger bubbling through, stopped his mouth from forming any more words to come out.

Tony nervously swallowed, his calm composure is starting to come undone, he could feel the sweat forming in his palms. Maybe he should've actually given a softer blow to the news, instead of just blurting it all out at once, could'a gone better that way. "You, uh, didn't hear me the first time, Bruce?" He stuttered out. "Might want to clean your ears out." Tony nervously joked, making a swirling motion with his finger at his ear. He suddenly realized how small the elevator was, the floor to the lab could not come sooner.

"Oh, no. I heard you perfectly clear." Bruce corrected through his teeth. "I was just hoping that somewhere along the way from the words forming in your brain, to coming out of your mouth, something got _clogged,"_ He gritted through his teeth once more. "And the words came out differently than you expected." He said in a very threatening tone, hoping that everything that Tony said-was not true. That Natasha was not in the Tower, that they were not living in the same building, because that cannot happen.

"There's nothing clogged, I took out all the filters." Tony simply replied with a shrug of his shoulders, he was trying to gain back his calm composure, which was harder than it sounded. Bruce had to suppress a groan at that comment. "I will repeat:" He gestured to Bruce with a flick of his wrist. "I got our pocket sized, assassin to move into the Tower." Tony to him in much more laid back tone than before, and with a hint of pride. He would never admit this to anyone, but Tony was surprised with himself that he actually got Natasha to agree to moving to the Tower. It was easier for him once he reminded himself that Bruce is his friend, and would never intentionally Hulk out, and has much more control than he will ever give himself credit for. But it was still pretty scary.

Any working thoughts Bruce had in his brain, vacated immediately.

Even though Tony has already said it twice, Bruce still had a smidgen of hope that he was wrong. "Huh?!" His poor brain still hadn't caught up with the rest of him.

"Yeesh, man," Tony commented in disbelief, and annoyance. "Natasha Romanoff? About 'yay' high?" He gestured with his hand how small she was by placing his hand by his jaw. "Can kill a man with her bare thighs? It's really hard to mistake someone who can do that." Tony kept listing all these reasons as if Bruce had no idea who he was talking about, which annoyed Bruce to no end.

Bruce sighed in annoyance and ran his hands down his face. "I know who you're talking about," He said in a very tired tone but it was sort of muffled by his hands, just trying to wrap his head what was happening. His mind kept repeating the last five minutes to understand what the heck just happened. Bruce was just suppose to leave the lab and go his apartment to cool off. How could so much change in so little time? He was going to have accept this sooner or later, but he really wanted to choose 'later'. But Bruce didn't have the luxury of that option. "Okay so let me get this straight: You went to Africa...?" Bruce slowly drew out, pointing at Tony who was waiting to make some sort of acknowledgement once he was finished. "To get her to move into the Tower...?" He repeated mostly out of fear that it was really true. "And succeeded...?"

Tony mocked a hurt look at that last comment. "Okay, _rude,_ but I'm going to ignore that." He sighed in relief that he wasn't going to have to repeat everything again. "You know, for a man who has seven Phds, you are _annoyingly_ slow." He commented, but Bruce barely heard him.

Natasha Romanoff is living in the same building as Bruce Banner. Oh Crap. Crap. Crap. Holy-freaking-crap!

This was the last thing Bruce wanted to be told. His brain couldn't even begin to process what was happening. It was impossible to make peace with the fact he was going to be living with Natasha. This was all sorts of levels of bad. This was catastrophic. Colossal. Monumental. The amount of paper it would take to list all of the reason why this was so horrible-would take every forest of the world.

You want to know this was so horrible?

It was because they have barely spoken a word to each other in two years. They've never even been alone in the same room. (Get your mind out of the gutter.) If they look in each other's direction by accident, they look the other way so fast they've gotten whiplash a couple of times.

Why is that?

Because two years ago, Natasha was nearly killed by Bruce's greener half. It's kinda hard to converse with someone who was almost killed by something inside of you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can remember her look of absolutely, petrified fear; it's not really something that goes away. He's seen that same look in all the he has attacked, or in most cases-killed. It's an absolutely terrifying thing to see. But Bruce has never constantly been around one of them, usually people who are attacked by the other guy are either dead, or he'll never see them again because they are paralyzed to just be around him. It's become like some sort of unwritten decision that they just don't talk to each other, it's easier that way, so that don't have to deal with the obvious problem at hand. Neither of them will have to deal with the hurt, or the fear, it's better to just ignore it.

So, for two years, that is exactly what Bruce and Natasha have been doing; ignoring it. You're not bleeding till you look at the wound. And it's been easy to maintain because they only ever see each other if she's required for a mission. But even then, the chance of being in the same room was pretty rare, because Bruce did not go out into the field. So, the only way they could ever see each other is if he appeared on a screen, or something; or the even rarer chance that Natasha was in the Tower. Bruce could count on both of his hands the amount of times he and Natasha have physically been in the same room.

But now that she is living in the Tower, it will be much harder to maintain that distance.

Bruce was so consumed by his thoughts he didn't even realize that Tony was still talking. "It took a lot of effort on my part, but I managed to get the deed done." There was a hint of pride that time, it was on a full, blown display for all the world to see.

Once his mind came fully to the present and finally took a grasp of the situation, Bruce realized how much he hated that Tony was actually happy about this, and how he thought it was a good thing. "Tony!" He caught the billionaire's attention who was wrapped up in his own rant. "You shouldn't be patting yourself on the back." Because the man clearly was. "You should be whacking yourself upside the head with a _mallet,_ to knock some sense into yourself!"

"Why...?" Tony was clearly confused by the statement, for a second it slipped his mind why he was so nervous about telling this to Bruce.

 _"Why?"_ Bruce repeated back in disbelief, wondering how Tony hasn't gotten it yet. It should be right in front of him, yet the man clearly did not understand. Bruce was just waiting for it to hit Tony like a train.

It then dawned on Tony why Bruce was angry about this, it all came rushing back. It hit him with the force of ten trains. Oh... "Oh, right," He commented rather dumbly. "She was almost the other guy's side-street pancake of the day." He said in realization, remembering that day on the helicarrier, and watching whatever footage that was actually still intact because of those cameras were destroyed by the other guy. That was not the right thing to be said in that moment. Actually, that will literally never be the right thing to say-in any moment! Bruce glared daggers at him, and when Tony caught the look Bruce was sending him-his eyes went as wide as saucers in realization of what he just said, and how the situation could've probably used a more delicate touch. "But don't worry, I can fix this!" Tony added quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a time machine." Bruce quipped dryly with a blank face, because that was the only way this was going to be fixed. By traveling back in time, and undoing this whole mess of crap. Bruce could've stayed in the lab, or left for his apartment earlier. Tony could've not gone to Africa; or even better, Bruce could've never messed with gamma radiation in the first place, then he wouldn't have to worry about any of this. But he'd rather not get into that again, he'll never move forward if he stays stuck in the past.

Tony just stared at him in annoyance before answering. "I have something even better, it's a time old tradition," He tried building it up, so hopefully, Bruce will accpet it. "Talk to her." Tony said in a way that made it sound like it was never thought of before, a brand new discovery; but for this situation, it kind of was.

Bruce looked at Tony like he had three heads, he didn't say anything for at least thirty seconds, he was absolutely dumbstuck. "Were you dropped on your head as a baby?" He asked in disbelief at the thought of talking to Natasha ever crossed Tony's mind.

There was a couple seconds of silence, Tony looked like he was actually pondering it before he replied. "Seven, no," He paused. "Eight times." He was clearly confidant of his answer.

He answered. He actually answered the question. It was rhetorical!

Bruce just dismissed it, though, there were more important matters at hand, like the fact that the other guy is really ticked off, and Bruce can't blame him. He can hear him growling, yelling, and grunting, wishing to lunge his hands at the 'tinman.' "You know, the other guy isn't very happy about this, either. I can hear him." Bruce said in a very simple manner, which was terrifying all in itself.

Tony had the decency to look only a little bit horrified, knowing that there was something bigger going on. Getting Bruce and Natasha to talk was the main goal at the moment, he can worry about changing his pants later. It was going to be very bad, and very awkward in the Tower if these two can't say a single word to each other. "Lock that door, Bruce." Tony was referencing to the other guy, they can't deal with that right now. "We're all going to be living under same 98 roofs, you can't be hiding from her forever, not anymore." He said in a friendly, but stern tone.

"Are you sure?" Bruce quipped back. "You just said '98 roofs', that's a lot of space." He added. The Tower was quite a significant building; 98 floors, state-of-the-art technology, home of the world's mightiest superheros. Everything anyone could ever want, but in the back of Bruce's mind, he know's that no amount of space would be able to keep him a safe distance from the Russian assassin. No matter how hard he could wish it. But then it hit Bruce, Natasha hasn't tried to seek him out, either. For two years, they've both kept their distance from each other. Even though she's in the Tower, non of that's going to change in a blink of an eye. Tony was about to respond to the 'lot of space' comment, but Bruce cut him off at the pass. "Besides, for the past two years, she hasn't been so keen on talking to me, either." Bruce said it in almost a guilty tone, because it was his fault that Natasha didn't want to be anywhere near him. "Who's to say that if I do talk to her, she won't just walk away?"

Tony wasn't really expecting for Bruce to comeback with that. That Natasha was just as reserved to them talking, or being anywhere around each other. That didn't make much sense at all, but Tony will just pocket that for later. For now, he'll just humor Bruce. "Let's say, hypothetically, you do manage to scare the bejeezus out of her for the second time, and she turns into a bat and flies away..." Tony just trailed off, not finishing his statement. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him in question after suppressing the eye roll that he so badly wanted to release. Tony realized he stopped talking after seeing the look Bruce was giving him. "Sorry, lost my train of thought." He murmured with a confused look etched into his face.

"Something about a bat," Bruce filled in dryly for him.

You can see the light bulb turn on in Tony's head. "Oh yes! Evolution," Bruce didn't hold back the eye roll that time. Tony thought about backing away from this, and leaving him alone, then all of this can be done with. Two Avengers will just never talk to each other, they're very professional, so maybe it will be okay, communication signals won't get messed up or anything, but it wouldn't be very good for the team; and it wouldn't be good for Bruce, as much as he would deny it. Bruce needs to talk to Natasha, avoiding this issue will just make things worse, he just needs to rip off the band-aid and get this over with. If not, it will be agonizing to watch the two of them. "Talk to her," Tony repeated with a sigh. Bruce opened his mouth to say something but he cut him off. "I'm asking as a friend." He knew he just played _that_ card.

 _Okay, that was low._ Bruce stared in disbelief that Tony just said those words. Not cool. "You wanna play that card? _Now?_ You can only play that card once."

"I know." Tony simply replied.

"You sure you won't to use it for this?" Bruce questioned, hoping that he would say 'no', because if he didn't-there was no way Bruce was getting out of it.

"I'm sure." Crap...

Bruce sighed and dipped his head down. He played the card. There was no way of getting out of it. Bruce has never played his card before, never really had an important reason for it. Then here comes Tony, who's just trumping it up. Perfect. Bruce lifted his head and looked at Tony, it was then he realized something. Tony cares about him, he's making Bruce do this for him, he cared. Which made made it really hard to hate Tony in that moment, as much as people refused to see it, Tony was actually a really good guy, with a heart too big for his own good.

There was no escape; he couldn't Hulk out, the elevator was still moving. There was no point in fighting against Tony, and Bruce didn't have the energy to do it anyways. He was just doing this for Bruce's own good-and again-he really hated that it made it so hard to hate Tony. This wasn't a wing-man on crack, this was someone who was pushing their friend into the deep end knowing they won't drown. Well, at least one of them knew, because Bruce sure didn't.

The situation almost reminded Bruce of a parent making their children eat their vegetables, and because of that, it made it a little easier for Bruce was about to do next. He was going to have to do it; wow, Tony is really good at this. His persuasive powers matched Natasha's. Bruce let out another sigh. "Jarvis, where's Natasha?" He asked tiredly, barely believing he was actually doing this.

Tony just grinned wildly.

Sooner or later? Sooner was happening now. Woo-hoo...

* * *

Natasha moved into the Tower after a long conversation with Tony, and a lot of convincing. She didn't want to, it didn't feel right to move in, not when her file was out there; it was like an overwhelming need to constantly be looking over her shoulder, Natasha has always felt like that. But when the files leaked, the feeling only grew, and moving into the Tower would mean no longer requiring the need to look over her shoulder, and that would just feel weird. It doesn't mean that Natasha would stop looking over her shoulder, that would be an impossible feat for her, it just means that she wouldn't have to anymore, and Natasha has never lived in a place where she didn't need to constantly be on the lookout; she doesn't know how to stop it.

But, at the same time, Natasha didn't have it in her to say 'no', she could've, but there was no energy left to say those words. She didn't have the energy to say that she wasn't tired, that she was fine, the well dried up. Because Natasha was so-freaking-tired, she couldn't say 'no', she couldn't say 'no', she couldn't say 'no' to not running anymore.

So-all in all-Natasha said 'yes', and packed up all of her things, which took no time at all, seeing as all of her things were already in a go bag in case she had to leave quickly. Tony came in via Iron Man suit, so she had to take the quinjet back, which was hidden deep in the forest under a bunch of foliage and tarp. Natasha just wished she hadn't have shown Tony where the quinjet was, because apparently taking the Iron Man suit all the way to Africa puts a serious kink in his back, and then for the next ten hours she had to be stuck in a confined space with just Tony who was the worst person to be stuck in a confined space with for ten hours.

Then after all of that, Natasha still actually had to move into the Tower. When they finally got there Tony darted off to an elevator and she met up with Pepper who showed her apartment. It was almost all white, it was open space for the kitchen and living room, simple but nice. After that, Natasha said bye to Pepper who left to probably do some more work for the company.

Which is where she is now, Natasha went to check out her bedroom to put everything away, it had floor to ceiling windows on two walls, a massive, and a big chandelier. She put her go bag on the bed and looked around the room, it had an attached bathroom and walk-in closet. It all felt like so much, there was so much going on. Natasha looked outside the windows and stared out the windows to look at the city which was covered in a dark blue sky, streaking all the way around, but the darkness light up by millions of lights within buildings so high they could reach the heavens.

And that's when it hit Natasha. She just moved into the Tower.

All of those reasons of why she didn't want to move in, just happened. She's no longer on the run. She no longer has to always look over her shoulder. While her file is out for all the world to see-to see all the horrible things she has done-Natasha will have her feet propped up, relaxing. Everything that she didn't want to happen, now has the ability of actually happening. She shouldn't be in the Tower, sleeping in on thousand threat count sheets, she should be sleeping on rocks, having the sound of bullets be her alarm clock; it's what Natasha deserves. But she caved. She let her depleted amount of energy win her over to the light. Natasha was weak, it was such a sorry excuse to move in, she has no right to be here. But she's anyway...and she still doesn't have the energy to change that.

That's when the walls started to close in. The breath in lungs began to decrease drastically. Her balance became unknown concept to her, because somewhere along the way she fell to the floor, right at the foot of her bed. Natasha was having a panic attack. A big one, too.

She couldn't be in that room, she couldn't stay in there. She needed to get out and fill her lungs with fresh air. Natasha tried to move her legs to the best of her ability, but her muscles were slowly becoming undone under the stress of it all. But Natasha wouldn't have it. So, with all of her will, and the strength she did not bare, she managed to barely get her legs moving. Natasha clumsily got to her knees while grabbing onto the bedding for support and reached out for her go bag that was close enough on the bed to grab it with ease. Her shaky hands grasped the zipper and began to pull it back, Natasha blindly reached in her bag, just using her sense of touch to find the object. After digging past some clothes and a few knives, she found it.

Natasha pulled out a half empty bottle of vodka, and took a big swig to help her heart settle to a normal beat in her chest.

Before she knows it, Natasha was on the roof. I guess the process of spiraling into a vortex of nothingness while your mind is coming undone at the seams by your fears, and stress-is rather daunting enough to leave holes the size of Texas in your memory. If it was cold out, Natasha didn't notice, probably had to do with the fact that she's Russian, and that she's still running in the aftermath of the panic attack. She was leaning forward over the glass railing overlooking the Hudson river, her bottle was in hand and it still had a good portion of it's magic left. Natasha could've watched the city pass her by, stare at all the bright lights and screaming businessmen, but she hated the city and watching the calm water calmed her down. Seeing the water roll out, the glistening blue, little boats go back and forth across, it helped Natasha breathe. The water almost reminded her of a painting, or maybe a big mirror, all of the whole city reflected downward upon the river, it was beautiful.

The wind coursing through her hair, shifted, there was something different, then Natasha realized something, she was no longer alone.

The elevator door's opened and someone-very cautiously slow-stepped out. There was shuffling as they moved, the steps were oh so hesitant. It was as if whoever was making the steps-wanted to be anywhere but there. It clicked in Natasha's mind who exactly it was, it was the last person she would ever expect to willingly be in the same area as she was without any company. Maybe they didn't know she was there, but the steps still kept moving forward and in Natasha's direction, if they didn't think she was there-they would've already spotted her and left. Which meant only one thing-this person was actively seeking her out. Now that's a new one. "Come here often, Doc?" Natasha quipped without turning to look at him.

Bruce's steps came to a sudden stop, he felt like an idiot for not realizing that a master assassin could sniff him out from a mile away. For a second on that roof, Bruce felt like there was a chance that he could still escape, but now Natasha has initiated an interaction there was no getting out. "Agent Romanoff." He acknowledged back in a calm manor.

That irked Natasha. "Not 'Agent'. It hasn't been for a while." It really made her mad whenever someone called her 'agent' when SHIELD has been left in shambles. Natasha is no longer a spy, just an assassin; always has been-always will be. But she knew better than to bite the good doctor's head off.

"Sorry, Miss..." Bruce started off sheepishly, but then he figured if they were going to have the most awkward conversation in history they might as well be on a first name basis. "Natasha." He drew out slowly because it most certainly did not resolve the awkward tension.

Natasha noticed that Bruce was still a few good feet behind her and made no evident plans on moving forward. It was rather annoying, but yelling won't help anyone. Plus it also probably took a lot courage for Bruce to willingly find Natasha, it took two years for it to build up, so she wasn't about to go and kick him out. He might run all the way back to Calcutta. She knew that he was not going to move at all unless she gave him the green light...hehe. "Come on in, pull up a chair," Natasha said in a slightly raw voice from the vodka. "I don't bite...much." She gave a playful shrug to that last part.

It kind of surprised Bruce that Natasha was willing for Bruce to stand next to her and talk, it almost felt wrong. It felt more weird than anything. She was suppose to hate him, scream at him to leave, maybe run away. But none of that happened, Natasha was beyond calm for this situation. In a way that made things a little easier, and so much harder. Bruce was still wary about doing this, but there was no backing down now, he slowly moved over in a still very hesitant tone until he was standing next to her, overlooking the Hudson.

Even though Bruce was now standing next to Natasha, nobody said anything. It was deadening silence. The only sound was the slight whistle of the wind every fifteen seconds. It was driving Natasha insane. But what could she expect, this was the most conversing the two have had over the last two years. It was a freaking Dickinson's book compared to Dr. Seuss. But as it made sense that there was going to be an awkward silence, Natasha refused to let it leave this way. "Peace and quiet is always pleasant company, but it doesn't get anything done." she hoped filling the silence would compel Bruce to talk.

It definitely knocked him for a second. For a moment, Bruce forgot there was even a conversation happening, he was nervous that his brain kind of just shut down for a second. It took him a little while to respond, his brain and mouth were still in the process of wiring themselves. "Sorry, it's just, uh..." Bruce trailed off into a soft chuckle of self hate and surprise. "I didn't expect this."

"Expect what?" Natasha asked in confusion.

"You're, uh, you're talking to me." It absolutely made no sense for her to do that. No one in Natasha's position ever has. This is a first. Anybody the other guy has been around is either dead or they would never see him again. Why would they? So, why is she willingly talking to Bruce? It made no sense. "I'd thought that the second you saw me up here, you would've uh..." Bruce was exactly sure how to finish that sentence. "Turned into a bat..." There was probably a whole other slew of ways to finish that statement but it was the only one on Bruce's tongue. He really hated Tony, that probably did the exact opposite of helping the situation.

Natasha should've known something like that would've come out, a freaking bat, but that's not the part that really bothered her. Plus, she knows that Bruce didn't actually think that up. "Okay, I'm going to let the second part of that statement slide because I know those words came from Stark's mouth-not your's." She said in a extremely calm manor but was entirely peeved inside but not for the reason you would think.

Bruce looked nervously guilty even though Natasha was correct, nothing flies over her head. He really should've known that Natasha would know that Tony said those things, it's a little scary how she just knows everything. "You're not wrong." He was going to kill Tony. Wait...Let the second part of that statement slide? That wasn't the part that bothered her? Then what did? This is just getting weirder and weirder by the second.

The confusion must've been noticeable on Bruce's face because Natasha emphasized her point, and what made absolutely no sense and she was wondering why Bruce said it in the first place. "It surprises you that I'm making small talk?" Natasha drew out slowly to emphasize how stupid it sounds, because it makes no-flipping-sense. They actually weren't ever looking at each other for the conversation until just now, when Natasha turned her head to face him. Bruce looked utterly terrified of this situation to almost the point where she felt bad for him. Bruce sheepishly shrugged his shoulders in a way of saying 'yes' but without actually having to say anything. For a moment, Natasha thought he might actually add something to that, but he was as quiet as a mouse. He really didn't want to say anything at all. She raised an eyebrow to say 'go on' to let Bruce know that she needs more information then that, but he kept his mouth shut; and Natasha was getting a little tired of it. "You know, this could go a lot faster if you actually tell me why." She quipped because of how nervous Bruce was, she could tell the sooner he left-the better.

Bruce didn't really feel like being blunt, a hard blow might not help anyone, it would do more damage than good. If he really had his way, Bruce wouldn't even be up there. But there was no getting out of it now, so he might as well just answer her question. Besides, he made a promise to Tony, which meant if he backed out of this now, Bruce will never be able to hear the end of it, and that might just make him attempt to rip off his own ears. "Well, after you met the other guy in a not-so-friendly way, I didn't think that you would ever want to...talk." Bruce said with very guilty undertones that were practically screaming at Natasha in bright colors.

Then it made sense, it all made so much sense that it almost hurt. Natasha felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner, it should've smacked her in the face, not be trying to get attention in the background. It never occurred to her that the reason Bruce has been so hesitant is actually for her. Now she just felt worse for wanting to yell at a guy who was just trying to be a gentleman. Bruce didn't want to talk to Natasha because he was afraid that she would be too scared. But in a way, that almost made Natasha even more mad. To think that he was almost treating her like a child afraid of the dark when Natasha Romanoff isn't afraid of anything. She doesn't do 'fear'. She's never been a child, and won't let something as silly as the attack on the helicarrier scar her for life. There are much more terrifying things in the world than the Hulk; like human beings, they may be the most terrifying thing to ever walk the face of the earth.

Natasha is not going to let fear control her. Now now. Not ever; and she definitely won't let someone assume that she will, that she'll cower away when things start to get a little hairy. She is not afraid of the Hulk, and she is certainly not afraid of Bruce Banner. "You assume that because I met your greener self that every time you enter the room, I'll cower away in the corner like some child?" Natasha bit the words out calmly, but in a very threatening tone with eyes like daggers.

Bruce was about to say 'yes' but the more he thought about it and how stupid it sounded, the less it felt like it would any work here, and the word died on his tongue. As much as it would make sense for any other person to hide away, to run and scream, it sounded absolutely clueless for someone like Natasha to do it, even though she should, it's safer that way. Bruce is surprised that he didn't think of this sooner, of course she wouldn't run away; maybe walk away in a calm step but briskly, because they have been avoiding each other for two years. And it's changing why? Because Natasha moved in, and Tony used the 'friend card', and now this is happening; and just like Bruce suspected-it's blowing up in his face. "No, definitely not, no." He says in such a confident voice, like Bruce is so sure of that statement-that Natasha's eyes widen out of pure shock. "It's just what everyone else has done," His tone changed to something far more somber. "To see someone not react like that, it's...different." Bruce phrased that to the best of his abilities. An unknown variable of thoughts ran through his head while saying those words, but he couldn't fit all of those thoughts into a single sentence-not without sounding like a madman-so Bruce narrowed it all down into one word; 'different'.

To say that Natasha was surprised by those words-would be an understatement. It entirely knocked her off course, but not because she thought it so astounding that Bruce would say those things-because it really wasn't, it was just so shocking that Natasha didn't realize it sooner. Why was everything about this conversation so surprising? Probably has to do with the fact that they've known each other for two years but have never actually talked to one another. Bruce was just so used to all the negative outcomes of the Hulk, that it became a part of his daily routine; so to have someone who was attacked by the Hulk and not be afraid-would probably be the equivalence of finding the secret of the universe to Bruce. But Natasha wasn't afraid of the Hulk; never has been, never will be. It's pathetic. " 'Good' different, or 'bad' different?" She simply asked because she wasn't really sure what else she could say in that moment.

Bruce wasn't sure how to answer that because he had no-freaking-clue which one it was. Was it good? Or was it bad? On one hand, it was weirdly relaxing to have someone not utterly terrified, like there was the smallest of chances that maybe everything isn't always so terrible. It felt like there was a chance that Bruce could fight this, fight his inner demons. It was weird, just from having someone the other guy almost killed who wasn't afraid, made him feel hope; Bruce felt so stupid to think that when he knows that it's wrong, it felt pathetic.

But on the other hand, it was wrong. Natasha should be afraid, she was an idiot not to be, the other guy could kill her at any second and she's just standing there. She should be absolutely terrified of him, she has every reason to be, everyone should be scared straight of Bruce and the other guy; why doesn't Natasha understand that? Nobody on the team understands that, they're all just trusting him blindly when they could all be killed. Bruce has learned to deal with the others trusting him, and being used to it, especially Tony-but that's a whole other subject. But out of everyone-Natasha's the one who should trust him the least; the other guy didn't try to kill everyone else.

So which one was the overwhelming factor in this situation? The good or the bad? Both are playing war in Bruce's mind, but neither one is winning. There are good reasons for what is happening, and then there are bad reasons; but which one should be focused on? Which reasoning is more important? "I'll tell you when I figure that one out for myself." That was all Bruce could muster up to say in response, everything else would just be a mumbled mess.

That makes sense. Natasha looked at Bruce and saw that he was generally confused about what was happening as she was. I don't think there has ever been such an awkward conversation in history. Would it have been worse two years ago? Or just the same? Wow, that run-in within the bowels of helicarrier that was coming apart at the seams, seriously screwed things over. Natasha just simply let out a small laugh in return. "Touche,"

The air between the two of them wasn't as bad as it was when Bruce first exited the elevator, but it was still pretty weird. The tension was far more breathable but it wasn't enough to stand straight. There was no longer this palpable tension of strain, no one was itching to run away from this situation anymore, but if something were to arise that needed one of them to be called away-it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

But all of that changed in an instant. Neither of them were looking at each other, just finding other things to focus on. Natasha found herself memorizing the subtle waves of the Hudson river, and how slowly it moved along the bank, and just how few boats there were. But something was different, one of the boats towing leisurely along the river was a little different than every other one; it was a party boat. There was a bunch of college kids drinking their weight in booze, some of them were getting a little too hands-y, enough to give their parents heart attacks. The music was going so loud that if Natasha listened hard enough she could hear the beat to 'Hollaback Girl', they were having the time of their lives, living absolutely carefree. But one thing struck her more than anything else, all of them had a bunch of glow sticks; some of them were necklaces, bracelets, or just plain sticks. They came in all colors, red, purple, orange, pink, blue, yellow...

 _Green._

That's when calmness, and pleasantness of this situation went out the window for Natasha.

Her chest constricted with pure, unadulterated fear, her vision began to see red, her mind was entering 'fight or flight' mode, all the hairs on her neck stood straight as a tree. The fear in her stomach became so intense Natasha could hear buzzing in her ears, and feel each bead of sweat forming in her palms and upon her neck. But her composure remained entirely the same, the only thing that changed was the widening of her eyes, Natasha wasn't about to falter in front of a fellow teammate, or anyone for that matter.

Flashes of memory began to storm her mind, which did anything but help her.

 _The muscles began to change in size underneath Bruce's skin, he groaned in response of trying to hold the other guy back._

 _Green eyes. His eyes were so green, his face was petrified in fear and also saying 'run away', and Natasha knew there was nothing that was going to hold back the other guy._

 _Running. Her muscles were burning, her ankle was a little sore from the loose pipe, but it didn't slow her down much, thankfully. Natasha needed all help she could get._

 _Her back was against the wall, staring into the eyes of the beast, and Natasha knew there was no escape, his hand was raised, ready to smash her into oblivion._

Bruce sensed that something was wrong, he could smell it-as weird as it sounds, a little help by the other guy. Natasha seemed calm and okay at a glance, but he could tell that she was absolutely petrified. Her muscles were entirely stiff, and her eyes were wide as saucers. Her knuckles turned so white from her grip on the bottle of vodka-Bruce thought might just break it if she squeezes any harder. "Natasha...?" He asked slowly and calmly out of concern, he said it in a way as if he was approaching a wild animal, and he didn't want to spook it.

His voice pulled Natasha out of her reservoir, she mentally shook her self silly to calm herself, and then began to curse herself letting composure slip enough for someone to notice. That can't happen. But then Natasha realized she was still standing next to Bruce, and that was the last person she wanted to be around. She needed to leave, Natasha had to get out of there. But why? She was fine a second ago, nothing changed besides a simple fluke.

Natasha wasn't afraid of the Hulk.

She wasn't.

She wasn't.

She wasn't.

But...She was.

Natasha took one last swig of her vodka for good measure, and emptied the bottle of it's contents along with it, and she hated in that moment for being barely able to feel any burning sensation. "G'night, Doc." Natasha said quickly and left in just the same measure.

Bruce turned around and stared in shock, confusement, and concern and she just walked away into the elevator and the doors closed behind her. That was weird. Bruce isn't sure what just happened, but it probably wasn't good. The air felt cooler, the sound was quieter, all of the world came to a slowing stop as he stared at the elevator doors. The only words Bruce could get his mouth to form was "Goodnight, Natasha..." But they were barely able to form even that.

 _Seriously. What the heck just happened?_


	2. Yeah, well, isn't that the dream?

**Hello. I wanted to tell you, I made a few changes in the previous chapters, you can go back and look. For instance, Natasha will be born in '84 not '28, and I decided to not add Sam Wilson. The reasons I made these changes is because I have a lot planned for the this story, like _a lot._ To add that Natasha is almost as old as Cap, will be a little much. I'm not adding in Wilson because I'm not really sure what to do with him, plus it will be too many characters to keep track of. It feels like cutting parts of the story down, it will be easier to manage. I really did try to think of ways for this to work, by adding the age and Sam, but I couldn't. Besides, I really want to do a story with just the original six.**

 **Basically, this starts off after CA:WS and it's AU from there. Seriously, this story line is going far, _far_ off the rails. Thank you.**

 **Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the show...eventually, you might want to grab a tissue box or two...hundred.**

* * *

Natasha was in her bed, sound asleep. Well, 'sound' might not be the right word. She was dripping in sweat, thrashing at every slumbered thought. Having that conversation with Bruce, brought back some unwanted memories.

 _Falling, she was falling. But not just her, Bruce, too. Some debris fell on top of her pinning her down. Pained grunts filled her ears, Natasha turned her head and saw Bruce fending off the Hulk. The next few moments were kind of hazy after that. There was some agents asking if she was okay, but she managed to get them out of there, because as much as Natasha denied it, the Hulk was coming. She was saying his name in a way to coax him, to calm him down, but it wasn't working. So, Natasha went with a different tatic. "I swear on my life I will get you out of this. You will walk away and never, ever-"_

 _"Your life?!"_

 _The sound of clothes tearing, and pained grunts turning into growls echoed off the walls. It was instinct to run away, but Natasha couldn't, she was still pinned down by a pipe on her leg. It took some effort, but Natasha was able to get free. Next she thing she knows she was running. Running from the Hulk, in a very tight space. In his path of destruction was sparks and smoke._

 _It was a game of cat and mouse...expect so much worse. No training could fend her from the Hulk. She definitely couldn't seduce him. Natasha's muscles were burning as she forced them to work harder than ever. But it didn't matter, she felt the weight of his hand crash into her side throwing her against the wall. Natasha looked up and saw his snarling face, and in that moment, she only felt fear._

 _Before_ he _could deliver the final blow something flew across her face. Natasha looked around and saw that pure, innocent snow was filling her vision. But there was nothing innocent about what she was seeing, or remembering. She was no longer on the helicarrier, but on the front lawn of her childhood home in Volgograd. The Hulk wasn't staring at her, but her Father was. Her Father who was at her knees, bleeding. Who was looking at her with wide eyes, scared and confused. Natasha was in her eight year old self's body, wearing that stupid pink sleeping robe. "Natalia?" he breathed out, before falling to the ground with glassy eyes. Natasha stared down at the bloodied knife in her hand "Papa?" she breathed out in horror._

Natasha woke up with a jolt, instantly her whole body started shaking. _Okay, that was a new one._ She hasn't thought about either of those things in a long time, one of them she's almost forgotten, and the other; she thought she already dealt with. Her throat was hoarse, her hair was sticking to her face drenched in sweat, and so was her tank top. She slowly removed herself from the covers and made her over to the bathroom, at the best of her abilities; it's a little hard to walk when there's no air.

She splashed cold water on her face from the sink, in hopes of waking up from the nightmare that was still plaguing her mind. But it didn't work, her whole body was still shaking, Natasha the edge of the counter with white knuckles, she still can't escape her demons with her eyes close. Natasha opened her eyes and looked up at herself in the mirror, it's in moments like these she knows she can never escape rock bottom, but she didn't exactly see herself in the mirror; instead she saw her eight year old self, coated in her Father's blood. She could still remember the smell, the smell of her Father's blood on her hands.

Natasha instantly went numb at the image, and backed away from the mirror with panic stricken eyes. She blindly reached behind her for the door handle of the shower, almost tripping on herself in the process. Natasha hoped that maybe letting her whole body be dowsed with water will put her mind at ease. She was still in her clothes when she turned on the water, but it didn't matter because she was already soaked in her sweat, nor did she care.

The water trickled down her face, Natasha closed her eyes and tried to feel at peace. But something still felt off, she opened her eyes and realized it wasn't water running down her body; it was blood. It stained the tile, her hands, her face, her hair, her soul. Her heart lurched into her chest and she immediately shut off the water. As soon as she did, the blood disappeared, it was no longer on her hands, or anywhere, but it was forever in her memory. Natasha felt herself sink down into the corner of the shower with shaking hands running through her hair. She could still feel the blood on her hands, the red in her ledger. Natasha knew at this point water won't calm her nerves.

She didn't bother to change out of her clothes, she just needed to get rid of this pent up...rage-for lack of a better term-and fast. Natasha knew that punching her way through wouldn't be enough, so before she left for the gym, she grabbed a bottle or two of vodka from her nightstand.

Natasha was in the gym, taking her frustrations out on a punching bag. She had already been there for two hours, but the thoughts still invaded her mind. Her hair was in the most lazy ponytail, since it was starting to cling to her face, obstructing her vision. Natasha didn't even bother putting on shoes; nor did she wrap her hands, they were black, blue and purple, probably bleeding, too. If her brain was telling herself she was in pain, she didn't register it. Natasha kept thinking over, and over about her night demons. With every punch it grew stronger, the hold it took on her mind.

Bruce turning.

Punch.

White snow.

Punch.

Green eyes.

Punch.

Fire.

Punch.

While punching her way through, it went over Natasha's head that Clint entered the gym. He merely watched her while leaning against the wall, crossing his arms and legs. It was normal for them to either hit the bar or the gym when they had nightmares. Clint was seeing sandy beaches, palm trees, and blood in his sleep, so he was going to shoot a few arrows to get Honolulu out of his mind.

But entering the gym, Natasha seemed more tense then usual. "Hey, what'd that punching bag ever do to you?" he jokingly called out, but she paid no mind. The more Clint looked at her, the more he worried. Natasha was in a Zombie-like state, it didn't even look like she was looking at the punching bag. Just staring into space. He looked at the floor and saw the two bottles of vodka, one empty, the other halfway through. "Wow. Bar _and_ gym. Something must _really_ be bothering you." Clint casually commented, but he was really starting to freak out.

Running through the helicarrier.

Punch.

"Nat."

Ivan smiling.

Punch.

"Natasha." Clint kept calling her out, but it was only white noise.

 _Natalia?_ Her Father's voice echoed in her ears.

Punch. It wasn't enough. Punch. Not enough. Punch.

"Natasha, _stop!"_

Anger, pain and fear surged through her, and her next land on the punching bag wasn't a punch, it was a kick. It was a kick that sent the bag up 90 degrees and back down.

"Woah..." Clint breathed out. Clint has known Natasha for years, and he knows how strong she is. But he's only ever seen her do that once before...it was after Budapest. For a second it look like Natasha was about to go back to attacking the defenseless punching bag, but she didn't. Whatever anger or fear she had pent up inside her seem to subside after that kick. But she didn't move either, just stood in front of the punching bag, staring into nothing. It was kind of terrifying.

Clint finally got a good look at Natasha, she looked awful. There was bags under her eyes, strands of hair falling out of her ponytail, dripping in sweat, barefoot. She stared into a void, the only indicator that she was alive was her moving chest. He moved slowly towards her like approaching a wild animal, he didn't want to scare her away. "Natahsa..." Clint slowly called to her, but Natasha didn't move. He walked over until he was in front of her and grabbed her hand. "Jeez, Nat." he said, wincing at the sight of her bloodied and battered hand.

Clint walked her away from the punching bag, and slowly had her sit on the floor. Clint bent down on one knee while Natasha kind of just dropped. He grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured it on her hands, that woke her up. Natasha's eyes widened and her jaw clenched, but she made no noise at the burning in her hands.

"Screw you, Clint." It didn't feel like much of a threat, by her tired and sweaty form. Guess the pain made her more alert. For at least a second, and then she went back to her haunted stare.

It only made Clint laugh, he tried his best not to release a breath of relief that inched it's way up his throat by hearing her voice. "You wish."

He was hoping for a signature smirk, or something, but her face went completely blank. Which was never a good thing. It meant Natasha was hiding in her hole, dangling off a cliff, that he was never sure how to pull her back from. Clint's eyes softened and he cupped her cheek, dragging his thumb across her cheekbone "Nat..." he hated whenever she got like this, it didn't happen often, but when it did... He knew the only thing Natasha needed right now was some sleep, and maybe a shower. He stood up, and outstretched his hand towards "Come on," Clint's face held a warm, sad smile. Natasha didn't move, she didn't even look up. After a few seconds had passed, Clint gently grabbed her wrist, avoiding her injured hand, pulling her up. Natasha slowly followed behind him, Clint kept holding her wrist, she was still in her zombie-like state.

She couldn't really feel anything, or her brain wasn't registering it. Was she cold? Was she hot? Was she in pain? Natasha had no clue, after that nightmare, her brain just shut off, like a kill switch. She had no clue why her Father dying affected her so much. The only memory Natasha has of her parents is them dying. Clint was pulling her along, right? Natasha can tell he's holding her wrist.

She can hear something, rushing, like water. Not water. Not water. Not water. Blood. Have to escape. The fear causes Natasha to gain a little bit of focus, she recognizes that Clint has taken her from the gym to her bathroom. He probably turned on the water for her to take a shower. Natasha can feel herself shaking, but not moving. Why can't she move?

Clint watches as Natasha begins to shake as soon as he turned on the water. He could see it in her eyes, she was absolutely terrified. The only other time he had ever seen Natasha this terrified was at the railroads in Budapest. She slowly backed away from Clint and the water until she hit a wall, to which Natasha sunk down and wrapped her arms around her legs and hid her head.

He absolutely hated seeing her like this, it didn't feel right to see her so...broken. Clint went down on one knee in front of her with eyes full of worry, he put his hands on her arms. "Nat?" but she didn't answer, if anything, she started to shake even more. With a sigh he stood back up and went over to the shower and turned off the water. All of this is too much like Budapest, and all Clint wanted to do was forget it. Clint went back down on his knee if front of her, soon the shaking stopped. He tentatively reached out for her wrist, afraid Natasha would back away, when she didn't he grabbed to gently pull her up.

Natasha felt herself being propped up on the sink counter. Then she heard the sink turn on, and the water went down. _No. No. No! Blood. Papa! I'm sorry..._ She was pulled out of her thoughts when Clint's hand grasped her wrist, and that grounded her, and she knew she was safe. But Natasha still couldn't bring herself to move. Something cool, and wet brushed across her face. It was Clint with a wet washcloth, wiping away the sweat. It was cold, and soft; it felt nice.

At a very plodding pace, Natasha started to feel everything else, she felt her muscles, every stroke of the washcloth. She saw Clint watching her with gentle, kind eyes. Even though she felt everything again, she decided not to move. To have someone bathe her, because she couldn't do it herself, it was degrading. Just because of a nightmare, she can't bathe herself; it was slightly humiliating. And that, in a way...froze her all over again.

Natasha knew Clint didn't care, he bathed her once before, after Budapest. She's even bathed him before, it was after Honolulu. It wasn't out of love, most people would think that, but they don't love each other. They aren't husband and wife, or boyfriend and girlfriend; what the two are, though, is best friends, former partners. Natasha could understand why people would think they're in love, Natasha, herself, could see how she could be in love with Clint.

That is, if love wasn't for children. But she's never felt anything for him, and Natasha knows Clint isn't in love with her, either. After Honolulu, Clint could never love again. A debt turned into a friend. A target turned into a partner.

(Well...that is until Natasha got transferred over to work with Rogers. They've been partners for almost a year.)

Soon, all of the sweat was cleaned from her body. She looked a lot better, the color was slowly entering her eyes once more. But Natasha's clothes were still soaked and dirty. "I'm gonna take this off, okay?" Clint pointed out her grey tank top, he waited for her to say something; the only thing he wanted right now, was to hear her voice, but he was only met with silence. Clint was a little hesitant a first, due to fear of bodily; but when he was her vacant eyes, it didn't matter anymore. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and gently pulled it over her arms.

Clint pulled Natasha off the counter and walked her outside of the bathroom into her walk-in closet. He sat her on the ottoman in the middle of the room, while he looked for one of his hoodies. Because he knows Natasha has stolen several of his hoodies, probably some of Steve's too, she even stole one of Tony's, it was the he was wearing during their mission in Quebec. Now that she's living in the tower, the rest of the guys will begin to mysteriously loose clothing.

Natasha recognizes the grey she stole from Clint being wrapped around her, it smelled like coffee and guitar picks. It smelled like Clint. "Thanks," she finally found the courage to use her voice. She didn't look up at him, but felt the relief in his gaze pooling through.

He slumped down next to Natasha on the ottoman with a shrug. "Eh, it's what we do." Clint knew there was a more pressing issue at hand. "You wanna talk about it?" Natasha shot him a look, like she was saying ' _are you kidding me_ '. Clint chuckled "Yeah, I know. Stupid question." It felt good to know Natasha was back to herself, but it didn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows Natasha has had nightmares before, but they've never done that to her before. Watching her like that, scared the crap out of him. "It's just...I've never seen you react, like that-to a nightmare." Clint sheepishly added.

Natasha huffed out a breath, she has reacted like this before, he's just never seen it, but Clint doesn't need to know that. "The Hulk." She half-lied. Natasha hoped that would satisfy him, she really doesn't want to talk about the rest.

Clint doesn't believe it for a second. "I won't deny that running from the Hulk would be terrifying. I'd probably need a change of pants," that made Natasha smirk. "But it wouldn't do this. Not to you." Clint knows how tough Natasha is, first hand. It was one of the first things he noticed about her when they met. Actually, the first thing he noticed about Natasha-was how tired she looked. But he also knew that the Hulk incident shook her up, even though she would never admit. Well, technically she did just admit it. She always avoided Bruce, and vise versa. But Clint knows that Natasha probably didn't even notice it, she keeps herself in denial when it comes to emotions. Clint is well aware that her past memories could make a grown man die of fright, even he doesn't know all of what happened to her, he's not even sure he wants to know. Clint may never sleep again.

She could see that he was truly terrified, Clint tried to hide some of it, but was failing. Natasha didn't want him to worry, she knows Clint care, and before she could stop herself, the words came out. "My first kill." she swears Clint stops breathing for a second. Natasha looks over to him, but his face is completely casual.

"That aught to do it." he dryly inputted.

She could see in Clint's face he wanted her to lead on, but without pressure; but it took all Natasha had left in her to say that. She can't burden Clint with the details, plus he should never have to know that she murdered her own Father. Natasha doesn't want to see the look of disappointment and horror, but she should tell Clint, she deserves it, but she can't. "Thank you, Clint." He tilted his head at that, he was concerned and knew that Natasha was putting this conversation to a halt, but Clint also wanted her to get it out, because she never does. "It's okay," Natasha reached out and grabbed Clint's hand that was resting on the ottoman. "I'm okay." she gave it a light squeeze, with a small smile. Natasha was anything but okay, but she won't tell Clint that, she won't even tell herself. Clint still looked unsure, he didn't want to leave her alone, after seeing her like that. "I promise."

Clint gave out a small chuckle, knowing he couldn't open her up. But he also knows that if she ever does, he'll be there. "Liar." Natasha snorted a laugh at that. He knows her too well. Clint placed his hands on either side of his face and lightly kissed her forehead. "Get some sleep." Making Natasha open up when she doesn't want to, is never a good idea. He knows that she isn't okay, but he also knows that she will be. And that's all that matters.

He was almost out the door of the closet, when Natasha stopped him. "Are _you_ okay?"

Clint turns around to Natasha, and sees her looking at him with a hint of concern. "Sorry?"

"You only go to the gym in middle of the night if you can't sleep. You didn't come because of some magic telepathy signal, saying I was going off my rockers." Clint knows Natasha very well, probably the only one that knows her like this. But she knows him too, she can read anything off of anyone. It was impossible to keep a secret from her.

From her saying it like that, Clint almost wants to tell her, but after tonight, he can tell Natasha already has too many burdens.

 _Silence is all he can hear, and the silence is deafening. All he can smell is blood, and it is putrid. The only thing he can see, is the body. Screams that he is holding back, is all he can taste. Emptiness, is the only thing he feels._

"I'm fine." Clint lies. It's lie's, it's all lies. Whenever any of them say 'I'm fine', it's a lie. But that's how you get by, right? It's a part of being human.

"Liar." Natasha quipped with a smirk. Neither of them are okay. But that's okay, because if one of them starts to fall, they can lean on the other for support. Right now, Natasha and Clint are not okay, but give them time, and they will be. One day, maybe..."You thinking about Honolulu?"

The Clint way Clint freezes-only for a second, barely noticeable-meant Natasha was right. She knows Clint too well, she can tell through his haunted look, that it's the only possible thing on his mind. He manages to pull out a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Natasha doesn't want to talk about anything, and he doesn't want to talk about Honolulu. "Get some sleep, Nat." he's almost out the door again, but she stops him a second time.

She knows what Honolulu did to him, she's not sure if Clint will ever be the same. That kind of loss...will destroy someone. It destroyed Clint, but Natasha is there to pick up the pieces. "It wasn't your fault." Natasha assured him. It's like a reflex. When one of their minds starts to drift to mistakes, or losses; they will tell them 'it's not your fault', because that may be the only thing keeping them grounded. Not just Natasha and Clint, but everyone. Steve blames himself for Bucky, Thor blames himself for his brother, Tony blames himself for every death by his weapons, and Bruce...Bruce blames himself for too much. They're all broken in some way.

Clint turns around and looks at Natasha, with sad eyes and a morbid smile. "Liar."

As soon as Clint left her room, any energy to look somewhat okay, left her. Natasha laid her back down the ottoman, staring at the big, circular light on the ceiling. She know no matter how much she tells Clint that it wasn't his fault, it will never matter. Honolulu took a part of Clint, that he will never get back; and Budapest, _Oh, Budapest..._ Budapest took what little soul Natasha had left, and left her empty. Images and sounds of Budapest invaded her mind. It burned through her mind, she felt a heavy weight on her chest. It was like a reflex, anytime Clint thinks about Honolulu, she thought about Budapest. Each made cracks in their skin that could never be repaired, permanent burns in their DNA. Natasha closed her eyes, hoping to get the noises out of her head.

 _Cold. It's so cold. I'm not sure how much longer I can last. Can't stop, though. Clint will die if I stop. I won't let him_ _die. Just a littler farther._

The sounds of wheels screeching, people screaming, and explosions fill her ears. Natasha immediately opened her eyes and the noises stopped, but they never left her mind; and they will never leave her memory...or her ledger.

* * *

Natasha managed to a little bit more of sleep, not much, though; but at least it was some. As per usual, Natasha woke up without a hair out of place, this is one of the many reasons girls don't like her. She looked down at filthy clothes that were on the receiving end of her nightmares and memories, and flinched.

 _Oh, right..._

The favorite part of Natasha's day is when she first wakes up, and just for a second, her demons aren't at the reign of her thoughts. That one second of peace...and then it all goes away. All the pain come running back at warp speed. Every memory, and every thought, every punch, and every drop of sweat entered her mind. It was like the plague, you can never escape it. But it doesn't matter right now, _today's a new day_. Stupid, cheesy notion. It sounds dumb to even think it, but sometimes it's the only thing that works.

Natasha went into the bathroom, stripped down to her underwear and stared at her reflection. Full lips, green eyes, perfect porcelain skin, blood red hair; and she only had one thought running through her head.

 _I'm fine (I'm broken)_

If you would take a closer look, you would see the bag under her eyes, bruised and battered knuckles, and scars...everywhere. Natasha didn't see herself as vain, she didn't give a crap about what she looked like; but every scar has a story, and every story haunted her.

The gunshot on her hip from James in Odessa, the scratches on her upper right arm from...that's a story for another time. The gunshot on her shoulder, another gift from James. Another freaking gunshot when she was with Tony in Quebec. Imprints on her wrist from the...handcuffs. Straight from Natasha's right shoulder to the underside of her rib cage on her left side, was a long, straight scar. The story of that scar...was one of true loss.

On the inside of her other forearm was something special, Natasha lifted her arm to get a better look at it. On her forearm were words, words that were burned, engraved onto her skin, forever. But not just Natasha's skin, her soul, too.

The word was 'чудовище.' It's Russian. Translation: Monster, or monstrosity.

It was a gift from a friend. The part that cracked a little bit more of Natasha's soul was it was true. She's not just a killer, an assassin, a spy...she's a monster. The thing that sleeps under children's bed at night and slits their throat, slowly. It burned every time Natasha thought about everything she's done; it was too much. The killing, the screaming, the begging, the blood, the tears; too much.

Natasha dropped her arm back to her side, and tried her best to inhale a large breath, and exhale. It came out shaky; so, she she did it again, inhale, exhale; and it came out clearer.

Those were just to name a few. If you looked closer there were even more scars, more stories, more pain, more death.

Natasha realized then she had to actually get dress. She started to put on leather black pants, and a black tank top. She put on a leather jacket, but the sleeves only went a little past her elbows, and it didn't cover her scar that reminded her who she truly was; so Natasha pulled out a bottle of concealer. She dabbed it along the scar until completely disappeared, she also put it on her knuckles until the bruising was gone.

 _Conceal. Don't feel...I'm gonna kill Clint._

No one else knows, but Clint is a super big fan of Disney movies. He keeps making Natasha watch them with him. The thought of it makes Natasha feel a little bit lighter. _Happy thoughts._ Natasha will tell herself; but it doesn't always work.

Natasha went down to the kitchen. She was sitting down one of the bar stools watching the sunrise. _Probably could've gotten a few more hours...oh well._ She didn't realize how early she woke up, but Natasha knew she got as much sleep as herself would allow. It was weird to think that this is where she's going to be living for now on. And only after one freaking conversation with Stark. She was basking in the sunlight, enjoying the peace and tranquility...well, she was until she heard foot steps coming from the entrance of the kitchen (which is part of a glass staircase) that came to a sudden stop.

"Crap. You're here." Okay...usually it takes a little longer for Natasha to tick someone off. This must be some kind of record. Natasha turned around and saw Thor at the top of the stairs, with a very annoyed look on his face. His hair was all in disarray, half of it was up in a hair tie. He was still in gray sweatpants and a red hoodie that was partially unzipped, revealing a black tee shirt; all covered in wrinkles. It took some effort to swallow the chuckle that inched it's way up Natasha's throat at the sight of him.

"Well, hello to you to." She dryly quipped with a raised eyebrow.

It took a second, and Thor finally realized what he said, and his face morphed from tired and annoyed, to fear and horror, and quickly tried to backtrack his previous statement. "I meant, _heeey_ you're, uh, here..." Thor said with feigned enthusiasm. He awkwardly shifted under Natasha's gaze, while slowly making his way towards the kitchen island. "woohoo." he lamely added.

"Any particular reason for that, _special greeting_?" Natasha coyly asked Thor, who looked like he was about to pass out. She knew that he didn't mean it (hopefully), but the opportunity to mess with Thor was golden; and it was to much to pass up with that look on his face.

"Uh..." Thor awkwardly, shuffled his feet as distraction from this very uncomfortable situation. They don't really talk together very often-sometimes-but not often. And now here they are, having one of their very rare conversations...and he opens up with that. _Good thinking, idiot..._ Thor looks out the window at the rising sun, then his feet, and the ceiling-basically anywhere but Natasha. Finally, he looks at her "I'm sorry," was practically the only thing Thor could think of to say. "I am glad you're here. Truly, I am...but" there's always a 'but'. Thor hesitated on telling her this next part, mostly because he was embarrassed. "Yesterday when Stark was telling us you moved in, I didn't exactly believe him...so..." he trailed off, trying to get the next part out.

"How much is Stark taking from your back pocket?" Of course, it was a bet. It's always a bet, these boys never learn.

Thor immediately went red in the face. How the heck did she know? At first, he thought about telling Natasha differently, but then he realized that she's a professional spy...so that would be pointless. Thor nervously rubbed the back of his neck "Thirty..." He sheepishly gave in.

"Ah..." Natasha made a noise of acknowledgement, she's lost count of how many times Clint has made a bet to Stark, and lost.

After that, the room entered a very awkward silence. You could hear a pin drop, and it would sound like an atomic bomb. This is the longest conversation the two of them had ever had together. There definitely was not a lot to talk about. In this moment, Natasha was seriously regretting that she ever listened to Stark. This was almost as bad as when she tried to have a conversation with Bruce the night before. Eventually, Thor cleared his throat, snapping them out of the silence. He walked over to the fridge "Hungry?" and he started to pull out ingredients.

That definitely caught Natasha off guard. "You cook?" The thought of Thor standing over a stove, waiting for the peas to finish is very...odd.

"Had to learn," Thor told her, not looking up from cracking eggs into a bowl. "Jane has a steady diet of Red Bull, and expired products." he moved over to the stove to put eggs on the pan. Natasha's not really surprised at this, she's met Jane once or twice, the only way to describe her, really is...frazzled.

"My kind of woman," Natasha casually muttered.

For a couple of seconds, Thor didn't say anything. Natasha might have accidentally stumped him again. "Yeah, well, she's already taken." Thor told her with a hint of pride, still over the stove. Falling for a human girl, an astrophysicist, definitely never crossed his mind...but he wouldn't change it for the world. "Besides, I'm the only one here," Thor turned back to Natasha and put his hands on the counter. "that know's their way around the kitchen."

Natasha quirked her eyebrows at that. "Really?"

"Yep," Thor nodded.

"Five guys running around, and only one of them can make a proper meal?" She already knows Barton can't cook if his life depended on it. But seriously, only Thor? That seems kind of ridiculous. He's not even from here-and when I say 'here', I mean Earth.

That managed to get a little chuckle out of Thor. "Stark prefers to _experiment,_ so he's not allowed to cook." Natasha quirked an eyebrow. The thought of Stark cooking, sends a chill down Natasha's spine. It's already terrifying enough to know that he deals with explosives everyday. "Banner manages to burn everything." Thor said with raised eyebrows and a somewhat horrified look. Guess he was thinking the same thing.

Out of everyone, she would've thought Banner would be the best in the kitchen. He has steady hands. "I would've thought Doc would've been the one to look out for." Natasha said while crossing her arms and resting them on the counter.

While the eggs were cooking, Thor went over to the cupboard and grabbed a glass cup. "Nuh-Uh," He muttered with a shake of his head and a chuckle. He turned around and went over to the sink, turned it on and poured a glass of water. "Banner cooked once," Thor turned off the water and gestured the kitchen with the glass in his hand. "Brand new kitchen."

He lifted the glass of water to his lips, and Natasha saw a perfect opportunity. "Glad I didn't bet on it." She muttered under her breath, while turning her head to look out the window.

Thor choked on his water and gave a slight cough. Natasha turned her head back and gave him a slight smirk, while he was glaring at her. "Haha," he sarcastically quipped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I assume you already know about Barton?"

"Yeah..." She drew out. There was silence for a second, but not from awkwardness; they were both thinking about the times they've seen Clint cook. It is never a good thing to have Clint cook...unless you want a visit from the CDC. He cooked once while he and Nat were staying at a safe house, now-no more safe house. It was sort of nice to know that silence wasn't really uncomfortable anymore.

"And then there's Rogers," Thor said, breaking the silence. He started to put the ingredients he didn't anymore, back in the fridge. "He told me he wouldn't be a very good cook because he only grew up with _canned food."_ Thor said 'canned food' with a bit question in his tone; at the time when he was asking Steve, he didn't really understand what that had to do with cooking. He turned back around to gather the rest of the ingredients he didn't need. "I should've heed his warning." Thor told her with a grim expression.

"That bad?" Natasha questioned with a hint of amusement in her voice. Geez, man; Tony and Bruce already sound bad enough-now Steve?

"His cooking skills are somewhat..." Thor tried to think of a nice word to describe his cooking skills...it proved much harder than he first expected. Subpar? No, that's weird. Burnt garbage wrapped in expired meat? It's very true, but too mean. " Sub...standard?" Thor offered almost like a question while shrugging his shoulders; hoping that was passable.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at that. Substandard...really? What kind of lazy, half-way answer is that? "So basically; it sucked?" Just say it like it is, it makes things so much easier.

For a couple of seconds, Thor didn't say anything, he didn't even move a muscle; but you could see behind his eyes, he was thinking. Not to mention, he was sweating profusely. It was like he was thinking of an answer to combat it; but eventually he caved. "Yes," Thor went back to fridge walking with a hint of defeat. He figured that eggs might not be enough for everyone, so he pulled out a package of bacon. He turned on a burner and put on a skillet; as he started to put the bacon on the pan and a sizzle filled the air, He asked Natasha a question. "So, we've established that Stark, Barton and Rogers, make vile concoctions; and Banner just makes ashes." The way Thor worded that statement almost made Natasha laugh."But what about you?" Thor stopped putting bacon on the pan and turned to face her.

"Me?"

"Yep," Thor acknowledged with a nod. "Can you cook?"

Can she cook? Natasha's not even sure. _Will_ she cook? That sounds more like the proper question; because the answer is 'no'. It's not because Natasha's lazy or anything. It's just...

 _Inessa_

That name burns through her, more than anything else. The scar on her forearm burns, _I am a monster._ Natasha can feel the bile rising, and she realizes Thor is still expecting an answer. What the heck was she suppose to say? There's not really a clear-cut answer for a situation like this. _Distract him, throw him off. Buy yourself some time._ She puts on a playful smirk. "Thor, are you insinuating that because I'm a woman-I should know my way around the kitchen?" That should definitely give herself some time.

Thor immediately gains a panic stricken face. "Oh, n-n-n-n-no-no-no-no," He was practically tripping over his words, it was slightly adorable. "Wo-wo-women are s-strong; they kick butt. They, uh," He makes one of his hands into a loose fist and slaps it into the palm of his other hand. "don't need to cook." He wraps up his tiny rant with a sheepish smile.

Natasha almost feels bad for making Thor freak out like that-even though it was the funniest thing she's heard all week-but then she saw her opportunity to escape. "Fire," Natasha told him. Thor didn't see it, but right behind him was the bacon in a blazing fire; and the the smoke billowing out from it.

"Uh, what?" Thor asked in confusion. So, Natasha just pointed right behind him at the blazing fire. Thor turned around and his eyes must've grown twice their original size. "Oh crap," he ran over to the stove with an oven mitt; he put the lid over the top of the skillet. Thor started to wave the oven mitt in the air, in hopes it would get rid of the smoke, but it only made it worse.

As the smoke started to spread, Thor let out a string of curses. Natasha allowed herself to put on a small smile while quietly slipping out of the kitchen. This life isn't meant for her-a happy life. A life the consists of who's in charge of Friday night dinners, and what are they going to watch on Sunday night. She was never meant to have that life.

 _Inessa_

Tony was right. She hasn't given herself a second chance at living; and she never will.

The smoke just kept coming, and coming. Eventually, Thor stopped waving the oven mitt around, because he finally figured it was pointless. Soon, there was a loud blaring noise from the fire alarm. "ALERT. FIRE, FIRE. ALERT. FIRE, FIRE. ALERT." It repeated over, and over again. It took all of Thor's willpower to not punch out the walls just to stop the noise. So, Thor just settled for yelling back. "I noticed!" All of sudden, the sprinkler system came on; soaking Thor to the bone. It's almost as if the alarm system talked back. He just stood there, getting wet, with the same expression he had when he first saw Natasha in the kitchen.

"Mr. Odinson, I'd suggest moving away from the water. You're getting wet." The A.I. came over the speaker system. All of Thor's patience is gone at this point, so he did the only thing he could think of. He flipped Jarvis off. "I see Mr. Stark has taught you well."

* * *

 _I'm out of place. I'm not meant to be here._

Natasha kept thinking those words over and over again. She's not meant to be here, it wasn't what she trained for. She wasn't trained to settle down, she was trained to kill; to disappear into the night, like a shadow. It burned Natasha slightly, because a small part of her really just wants to stop, and settle down. She is just so tired. So tired of running. So tired of living in places where to you have to keep one eye open at night. So tired of being the bad guy.

Everyone says she's not the bad guy anymore, Clint pulled her out of it. But it's not true, Natasha is still the villain. She will put a bullet in someone with hesitation, or an ounce of remorse. All Natasha's been doing for the last twenty years is add to her ledger, she's been fooling herself thinking she could ever clear it up; and pretty soon, she's going to drown in it. Every time Natasha tries to clear her ledger she just makes it worse, Budapest is probably the best example.

While lost in thought, Natasha opened the door to the stairwell and saw the one person she didn't really feel like seeing.

 _Bruce._

For a second, Natasha's heart stopped. Just by the presence of himself, Natasha could hear the yelling, growling, and tearing of metal. It vibrated throughout her entire nervous system. But she didn't let it show. Natasha just shoved it deep down inside, and put a lock on it. She refused to accept this was a problem.

Bruce looked just as shocked as she was. To be honest, he didn't really want to see her either. Last night's confrontation was so weird and awkward, it probably just made things worse. For a while, neither of them said anything. Just silence, and the silence weighed about ten tons. Natasha didn't look like she was about to say anything, so decided to speak up first. Better than the silence, right? "Natasha." He said awkwardly, in terms of greeting.

Natasha ineptly fidgeted, because all she wanted to do was walk away. But Bruce decided to make contact, so, that option is no longer viable. "Doctor Banner." It felt weird to call him that, but it was the only thing she could think of to say. Even though, they never really talked, they were still teammates. The only time she's ever called a teammate by their official title, is when she met Clint. But Natasha remembered the vivid details from last night; the drinking, the bruises, kicking a punching bag up 90 degrees, and the bathing. She couldn't bring herself to say 'Doc', not after last night. Maybe tomorrow, after thing have cooled down a little.

Bruce internally cringed when she called him his official title, it was worse than 'Doc'. Yep, things are definitely worse.

The silence consumed them once more, neither of them had anything else to say to each other. They were both terrified by each other's presence. What were they suppose to say to each other? They didn't like the other ones presence, to be honest. Bruce, or the other guy, tried to kill Natasha; made her feel vulnerable, which is not an easy thing to do. Natasha acted a little too strong headed in Bruce's mind, like Tony; and one Tony is more than enough. She acts like nothing can harm her, which is not true.

Bruce knows he is absolutely crazy-when the only thing he wants-is for Natasha to be afraid of him. She's seen want he can do, up close. But he never actually smelled the fear from her until this very moment. He didn't smell it last night, so what changed. A part of him is glad he can smell the fear, fear keeps you alive; and the other part is...well, Bruce doesn't really know how to describe the other part.

All they want to do, is leave; but neither of them moves. It's like they're both afraid to make the first move. _It's not like this is chess or anything, just move._ But they are both completely still.

Natasha doesn't make a single move, because the entire time in her head she kept thinking, _You're safe._ But it didn't help, a part of her wanted to run; a part of her wanted to pull out a gun for protection; a part of her wanted to hide in the corner, like a child, pathetic; and part of her wanted to tell Bruce to go screw himself. But none of those options seemed very sane, so Natasha opted for the fifth option; silence.

Bruce didn't make of move out kindness, running away in the middle of the conversation seemed rude. He was on his way to see Tony in lab, apparently he had something important to show him; when all of the sudden he opens the door and sees Natasha. He immediately can tell she's afraid, which he has never been able to do. He can tell that she's trying to control her breathing, and heartbeat, hoping that Bruce won't notice she's afraid of him. But Natasha doesn't realize that because of the other guy, his senses are heightened.

When the long uncomfortable silence is becoming unbearable, the last one they'd expect to come to their rescue does. "Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark requires your assistance in the lab." Jarvis called out.

He doesn't let it show, but in that moment Bruce has never been more grateful for the idiot/genius. This is when he actually realized what that meant and Bruce grows a very annoyed expression. Because earlier, Tony just wanted to show him something, now he needs help...not again, that can only mean one thing. "Is he getting himself killed?" Natasha immediately quirked an eyebrow at that. Now, that topic is off of them some of tension had been released.

"It appears we might be heading in that direction." You can almost hear the sigh when Jarvis replied to Bruce.

Bruce doesn't waste a second, and walks away; Natasha walks right past him into the stairwell. As soon as the door closes behind her, Natasha finally let out the breath she realize she was holding in. She dropped both hands on her knees in an effort to compose herself, the was still feeling a little thin. As she took a shaky breath, after shaky breath, after shaky breath, Natasha slowly gained control of her lungs. As she leaned back against the wall with her hand lightly around her throat, sucking in the oxygen she momentarily deprived of.

"Are you all right, Agent Romanoff?" Jarvis comes over the speaker. Sometimes, it's really hard to see that Jarvis isn't actually human.

"I'm fine, Jarvis." She lied, while still gaining back her breath. "And it's not 'Agent', anymore." Seriously, people really need to get the memo. That part of her life is over, it's weird to think of that. Then Natasha actually remembered the problem at hand. "Is Stark going to kill everyone in the process? Because I would really like a heads up." Natasha forgot that with Stark in the tower, all sorts of things are going to blow up, or something worse. _Fun._ He's already pretty bad on missions-using all sorts of toys-now, imagine him in his own home. Crap...

"Mr. Stark is not doing anything drastic or life-threatening...for the moment."

Wait a second...what? That doesn't make any sense. "But you just said-"

"You didn't hear it from me...Miss Romanoff." Jarvis, almost smugly replied; and changing to her name to something more suitable for her.

Natasha wore a confused look for a second, then it finally clicks what Jarvis did. Tony never needed any help, but Bruce and Natasha did. Her confused look morphed into smirk. "Hear what?" She innocently asked. It is really, _really_ hard to remember that Jarvis isn't human. "Oh, and Jarvis?"

"Yes, Miss Romanoff?"

"Thank you."

There was a couple seconds of silence before Jarvis replied. "My pleasure."

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha caught something glistening. It was sunlight bouncing off the other buildings and glass from the window. Natasha moved up the stairs to next landing and looked out the window. The city was absolutely beautiful, every building was shining from the sun, like crystals. The sun was slowly setting in the distance. The sky was painted with oranges, pinks, and purples. It was gorgeous; breathtaking. Something out of a painting, or a dream.

But for Natasha it was something out of a memory, she has only seen a view like this once before in her life. Years ago, long before Avengers, it was when she first met Clint. 'A parting gift' is what she called it. He came up upon the rooftop with an arrow drawn, then the plan was thrown out the window.

That was a completely different time of her life, killing whoever she saw on the street, torturing children without a care. Dark times. And then she met Clint, but she still couldn't see the light.

She still remembers what she told him. _Every time I close my eyes, I can hear them screaming._

Natasha can still hear the screaming, it haunts her dreams. She can still smell the blood, the blood that she spilled. The worst part is, Natasha is still spilling blood, everyday. Actually no, that isn't the worst part, the worst part is when she kills them and feels nothing. While slicing throats, stabbing hearts and putting holes in them, she feels nothing. It's because it's what Natasha was trained to do, to kill-no, to destroy.

Which brings her back to what Natasha was thinking before the whole...'unfortunate incident'. _I don't belong here._

She doesn't. She doesn't deserve it. Natasha doesn't deserve the happiness, to have something constant. Natasha at first, thought she had that with Clint, but then she had to switch partners to Steve (but he's actually not too bad of partner, would be nice if he actually accepted dating advice) ; and then SHIELD collapsed from the inside. But also, she doesn't know how.

Natasha doesn't know how to be content, she's never had a reason to content. Her entire childhood consisted of being tortured and taught to kill. Even with Clint, she was always on edge, always looking over her shoulder. This is new territory.

"You know, you keep staring like that; you're going to burn a hole in the window." It was Steve. She turned around and saw him standing in the middle of the next set of stairs. He was wearing a little smirk.

Natasha found that she couldn't look at him anymore, and turned back around to face the city. Because when Captain America is smiling, then everyone is smiling; it's like yawning. And Natasha really didn't feel like smiling at the moment. Being alone, sounded really nice. "Yeah, well, isn't that the dream?" She said in a very monotone voice.

She could feel his facial expression change to concern through her back. He knows that she would always sound more sassy with a response, but Steve could only sense dread. He could always tell whenever she was upset, it might be a side effect of the serum; or maybe that's just the way he was built. For example, when they were in D.C. right after the bombing, and they were at Sam's place.

 _I thought I knew whose lies I was telling; guess I can't tell the difference anymore._

Natasha thought she finally turned over a new leaf, but she didn't. She can never escape the darkness. Natasha was meant to kill, meant to lie, it's in her DNA. She thought she was finally doing some good, but Natasha never did. The rest of the Avengers, they're good guys; they don't deserve to be surrounded by her, and her blood.

Steve slowly made his way down the stairs until he was standing right next to Natasha, looking out the window. The city reflecting the golden sky looked like it was on fire, burning through their memories. He could sense Natasha's dark thoughts, he knew something was one her, she was deep in thought. Steve waited a couple minutes, leaving them in complete, pure silence, before asking. "Alright, talk. What's going on in that head of yours?" But She stayed silent, the words couldn't form within her. With every passing second, her haunted look grew, the demons of her past grew closer to the surface. And Natasha did not want to talk about, all she wanted was to be left alone, but because she was with Steve, the chances of that happening are very slim. So, Steve decided until she could talk, he would do the talking. "You know, when Stark said he got you to move in, I thought he had one too many brownies."

That made Natasha snort. Why is everyone so caught up on that? First Thor, now Steve. At least Clint didn't bring it up; but probably because she was acting like a zombie, gained his full attention. "Popular subject, today."

"Popular for a reason," Steve retorted. "Nobody would've pegged Stark to be the one to get you here." It definitely surprised him when Tony told them all that is in the tower. Clint even started to laugh, but here she was, right in front of him. Well, not _all_ of her, part of Natasha's mind is somewhere else, drifting towards a cliff. A cliff that she goes to quite often.

And before Natasha could even stop herself, she found herself saying the words. "I don't belong here." The words that kept going over, and over again in her head. It burned like a mantra. Like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, or the thing that's making her float away. Natasha finally turned her head away from the city and towards Steve, who was looking at her with concerned and confused eyes. But he didn't say anything, knowing that Natasha wasn't finished talking, which she was grateful for. "I don't...I look around and I see a normal life-domestic even," She shrugged, trying to find the words to finish her thought. "And I'm...I'm out of place."

Steve's eyes softened when she said that. He knew he couldn't get the answer out of her right away of why Natasha thought that, so he waited it out. Gave her time. Because he knows if tries to open her up too fast, Natasha will clamp up so fast, and jump off the cliff. "You think living with the Hulk, an alien god, _Tony Stark-_ " Steve added Tony because as weird as it is to live with an alien god, nothing is as weird as Tony Stark, but then Natasha cut in.

" _You.."_ Natasha muttered.

"Me," Steve said with a chuckle. Sometimes it's weird to remember that some people consider him one of the wonders of the world. He noticed Natasha's eyes went right back to looking out at the city, it's as if she's looks at the city and can pretend she's not here. "That's your version of normal?" Steve quickly added, knowing he can't lose her in her thoughts.

There was a couple seconds of silence before Natasha said anything. "Most normal I've ever had..."

And then it finally it Steve. He thought the same thing too, when he first came to the tower' but probably for entirely different reasons. Crashed in the ice and woke up seventy years; everything was different. Steve thought he was fighting with good guys, but he was wrong; he's with the good guys now though...even if two of them couldn't see it. Natasha was one, he's read her file, he knows all the things she's done, but it doesn't matter; Steve trusts her with his life. And the other is Bruce, a monster right beneath the surface, that must be maddening, to have something that could destroy an entire city right inside of you.

"When I first came out of the ice, I was lost." Steve let his vulnerability show to Natasha, he knows he can trust her; besides, letting his walls down a little might let her walls down. An eye for an eye, a show of good faith. But if Natasha doesn't want to open up, Steve won't force her. "Everything I knew, was gone; but then I came here," Natasha let herself turn back towards Steve, and in his baby blue eyes, concern was no longer the overwhelming expression-it was wonder. "At first, I felt even more lost, to think things could ever go back to normal. But then it hit me,"

At part of Steve isn't really telling this for Natasha, but for himself. He's never told anyone this, of he was when this all started. Steve is definitely still concerned about Natasha, but telling her this and reminiscing of how this all started-made him really content. "I live with the Hulk, an alien god, a few master assassins, and _Tony Stark._ " Dating back to earlier in their conversation, but adding Clint and Natasha. Saying how he lives with all of them, almost makes Steve laugh, because there is never a day of peace in tower; and he loves every second of it; well, almost every second. "Eventually I realized that they're just as lost as I am, and that made it a little easier. One day-as cheesy as it sounds-'' Steve's mouth curled into a smile, thinking of this next part. "This place became my home."

Natasha felt her walls cracking a little bit, but then she immediately steeled herself back up; an impenetrable force. "That's your plan to win me over? A heart wrenching backstory?" She knew that was a little rude but Natasha really didn't want to get sentimental.

If that got to him, Steve didn't let it show. This is what Natasha does, when her walls are close to breaking, she makes them twice as strong. And if he can't break them, then oh, well; but Steve's not going down without a fight. He makes a sound that's a cross between a sigh and a chuckle, while shaking his head. "What I'm trying to say is...take it one day at a time." It's really the only thing that ever works, finding a new home isn't like going to grocery store; it's entirely new territory. "You're not going to love this place overnight," Then Steve's face twisted into a slight grimace. "I know I didn't."

Steve begins to turn back and walked towards the stairs. As soon as his hand grabbed onto the railing he stopped, he turned his head slightly and called over his shoulder. "I just.." He gave a slight sigh, maybe he'll break Natasha's walls one day, but that day is not today. "Give it time...you'll find your place eventually." And with that, Steve was gone.

When Natasha was left again, a part of her really wanted to laugh. Laugh at the cheesy lines Steve was using. Laugh at him saying she'll find a place here...laugh at the fact that she really wanted to believe. To laugh at the fact that a part of her was hopeful, that maybe this place will really one day, be her home.

That makes Natasha want to punch herself, punch herself for letting hope sink in just a little. And as quickly as she can, the thought that this place could ever be her home escapes her mind. She can't think like that, ever. Natasha wanted to laugh again, because she realized that Captain America made her believe in something, that's like getting into bed with Tony Stark...okay, she doesn't want to laugh anymore, now she just wants to throw up.

But before Natasha could stop it, the thought of enjoying it there crossed her mind once again. Now, that she's had time to process everything, Natasha realized how ridiculous it sounded. There is no way that would ever happen...so why isn't she leaving? Of course...Captain America, he made her believe. She can't believe, though.

 _Give it time._

All of sudden the word crossed Natasha's lips. "Home..." and for the first time in a long time, Natasha laughed; even though it was kind of morbid.

* * *

Bruce was in the elevator, wringing his hands nervously. Mostly because of the 'conversation' he just had with Natasha. Which just consisted of exchanging of names, and uncomfortable silence. He wasn't sure after the conversation they had on the rooftop last night how they would get along, turns out-not well. Even before almost killing her, Natasha already made him uncomfortable.

She was the one who pulled Bruce back into the game, a game of which he had no intention of playing; because he knew he would win every time, and that isn't a good thing. The first time he met Natasha haunted him every night, it left Bruce thinking, what if he did say no, would everything be worse or better. If he stayed in Calcutta, billions of people wouldn't be at risk of being crushed by a green rage monster everyday.; and his mind wouldn't be screaming at him to leave everyday.

But if Bruce stayed in Calcutta he would have never met Tony and everyone else. He would still be all alone, still wishing he could swallow a bullet; living at the bottom of a barrel everyday.

Sometimes, Bruce still wishes he could swallow a bullet, it would make things easier, it would make things safer. What's one sacrifice for the rest of humanity? One less perilous threat lurking around the corner. At this thought, he starts to worry his knuckles a little bit harder.

The reason Bruce wrings his hands or rubs the back of his neck isn't really because he's nervous. It's more so to remind him, remind him that he is touching human skin. It's to remind Bruce that a part of him is still human, even though something akin to a monster is always lurking beneath the surface. And it's just waiting to get out and destroy...everyone and everything. Always haunting the back of his head, he will always voice his opinion by grunting or growling, every time he does it, it sends a shiver down Bruce's spine.

Up until a few minutes ago, Natasha never really seemed afraid of him, even though they never talked. But something changed, Bruce just isn't sure what exactly changed. They actually had a real conversation last night, but somehow it made them grow apart.

That little incident in the stairwell began to consume his every thought. Bit that's okay, Bruce is used to having his every thought consumed; at least this one can't fight back.

Bruce thought after seeing the other guy up close, right on your tail, the hand of death within reach-Natasha would be absolutely terrified. He thought she would hate him, go running for the hills, but no; Natasha remained perfectly calm, it was almost infuriating.

So what the heck happened, to make all of that change? She should be scared, she should not want to be anywhere near him. So, this is a good thing...right?

The 'ding' of the elevator doors opening awakened Bruce from his thoughts. Then realized why he was the elevator, _Tony._ Oh crap...just what exactly has he done this time. Jarvis will usually alert him if something is going wrong in the lab, because without fail, once a week, something goes wrong. One time, Bruce walked into the workshop and saw Tony taking apart a nuke. Bruce then proceeded to spend the next two hours in the hulking cage.

But when he walked into the lab Tony was sitting at the desk with his feet propped up, reading a magazine. Uh...what? This isn't what Bruce imagined would be happening, it seems so normal. Nothing's on fire, no one's screaming, nothing on the verge of exploding. It's calm...too calm, something's wrong. After a few seconds of just blinking, Bruce finally asked. "Uh, Tony?"

Tony didn't even notice Bruce enter the lab; so if he was startled, he didn't let it show. Tony looked up from his magazine and saw Bruce staring at him with wide eyes. " _Yes..."_ He drew out.

A very confused Bruce asks, "Jarvis said you needed my help," hoping that someone could put the pieces together. Bruce stuffed his idle hands into his pockets. Something doesn't add up.

Now it was Tony's turn to look confused, but then he turned it into a little smirk, catching onto what was happening. "Oh yes, flipping through a magazine is so difficult. If you want, you can flip every other page." he quipped sarcastically.

Bruce sighed at the comment and dipped his head, trying to get his bearings straight. "Okay, this doesn't make any-" Bruce cut himself instantly when he realized what happened. He immediately to the ceiling, imaging Jarvis winking at him. Jarvis played him...or helped him; Bruce isn't really right now. He can hear chuckling in the back of his mind, and it takes all of Bruce's willpower not to punch himself.

Tony had bite back the laughter that was inching his way up his throat at the sight of him, and then remembered he actually did need Bruce for something; but it's more like Bruce needed Tony. But Bruce hasn't realized that yet. "I wanted to show you something earlier," then Tony waved it off with his hand. It was a video of Thor trying to put out a fire, which just became the highlight of his day. "But that's not important anymore." There were more pressing matters at hand.

"What do you me-"

Tony cut Bruce off, getting straight to the point. "I saw your 'conversation' with Romanoff at the stairwell; And I use the term 'conversation' very lightly, it was more like a run in." He said casually with the word 'conversation', in air quotes. Bruce immediately sucked in a breath. Oh no...If Tony saw the interaction between him and Natasha then he would definitely want to talk about it, and Bruce does not want to talk about it. Bruce, himself, was still trying to wrap his head about what exactly happened in the stairwell, he has never found himself in such an uncomfortable situation. He literally smelled the fear coming from her, in all the times Bruce has seen Natasha stare down the barrel of a gun, or be surrounded be ten, armed men, he has never smelled fear.

The thing Bruce wants most in the world right now, is to leave this conversation. Maybe Jarvis will come in for help again. Someone could magically need his help at this moment, and the phone will start ringing. Bruce could say he's feeling a little green around the edges needs to spend a few hours in the hulking cage. "If you're trying to think of ways to get out of this conversation, none of them will work," It was almost as it Tony could read his thoughts. Tony moved his feet off the desk and used a foot to draw out another chair from the other end of the desk. "So, sit down."

Bruce knew if he ran, Tony would just hunt him down and badger in his ear. So, he obliged and sat down in the chair. "Of course, you saw it..." Bruce admitted with a sigh while rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Bruce knows very well that Tony is a very nosy person. The first thing he did when he got Natasha to move into the tower was run to find Bruce just so they could make nice; and look how that turned out.

"Yeah, I did. I've seen more conversation between a penguin and a hamburger," Only Tony could ever say things like that in the middle of a conversation. "Bruce, what the heck was that?" Tony sounded genuinely concerned, he knows how hard it is for Bruce to make friends. He knew that it would be even harder to make friends with someone who was almost splatter on the pavement. But, he didn't expect it to go that bad.

Bruce took a deep sigh, knowing that there was no way to escape the conversation. "I don't know," He really didn't. Bruce kept playing over every scenario in his head. What happened within twelve hours that made Natasha so afraid of him. The kind of fear he would have expected two years ago, but it just now showed up. It doesn't make any sense. "I think the talk we had on the rooftop last night just made things worse." _Worse. So much worse._ Bruce wasn't even sure if her being afraid of him was a good thing, or a bad thing.

It could be a good thing, Natasha is finally afraid of him like she she should be. But a part of Bruce also felt like it was a bad thing, it was a bad thing because _she's afraid of him._ Even though Natasha should be afraid of Bruce, he really hated it. It killed him to know that one of the few people that weren't afraid of him, that trusted him-actually was terrified of him. And it killed Bruce, to know that he made the _Black Widow_ terrified.

"I really thought you guys at least made," Tony twirled his hand in the air, making his point. "Somewhat nice."

Yeah, that's pretty much the exact opposite of what happened. They did not make nice, at all. Bruce is pretty sure their 'relationship' was better before their talk on the roof. One of them said something every two minutes, and rest was utter and awkward silence. Sure, they never talked to each other before, but at least Natasha wasn't afraid of him. Now she is, and Bruce isn't really sure how he's suppose to take that. On one hand it killed him, and on the other...it was a good thing. But it didn't change the fact that it was killing him.

Bruce just wished that talk of last night never happened. Then maybe Natasha would never be afraid of him. Because Natasha Romanoff isn't afraid of anything, he's seen her in battle. But in that moment Natasha was absolutely terrified. Because of him. Yesterday, Bruce would've thought that was great, finally she came to her senses; but now he isn't so sure.

He always thought Natasha was too cocky for her own good, thinking nothing could kill her. Sometimes her only weapon was her thighs. It really annoyed Bruce to no end, Natasha acted like she was invincible, and one day that would be her undoing. If she was injured, Natasha would barely even flinch, it was as if nothing could hurt her. But that's not true, Bruce almost killed her and Natasha barely even flinched.

But now Natasha is finally afraid, and it's haunting him.

Bruce sighed at this. "I thought we did, too. I thought..." Natasha is afraid of him. Everyone is afraid of him. Just like they should be. No one should be anywhere near him, so he has to accept this. Natasha is afraid of him, and it's a good thing. "I don't know..." He doesn't really what to think of anything at this point. It's a good thing. It's a good thing. It's a good thing. _So, why is it eating me up inside?_ Bruce can't think of anything else, not the color of the sky, not the smell of his shampoo, not his parents; and Bruce is always thinking about his parents. The horror of that night. But no, the only thing on his mind is the incident in the stairwell, the stone cold look on Natasha's face, the smell of fear that was overwhelming.

Tony saw how much this conversation was killing Bruce, so he knew he had to wrap this up quickly. Bruce looked even more tired and worn out than normal. And that's saying a lot for Bruce, usually it's a match between Tony and Bruce of who looks more worse for wear. Bruce is the clear winner right now, whatever happened in the stairwell, is wearing him to the bone.

Bruce looked Tony whenever he woke up drenched in sweat after dreaming of Afghanistan. It was a little mortifying to see Bruce like this, and it scared the crap out of Tony. "Look Bruce, I don't know if you two will ever be friends," He knew asking for Bruce to make nice with Natasha yesterday was beyond wishful thinking. Natasha isn't exactly the most open person out there, and to be honest, neither is Bruce. How the heck would the two most close minded, and cut off from society people, be friends? "But I also know it won't happen over night, these things take time." It was going to take a lot more than time. Time heals all wounds, big lie. Nothing would ever fix this. "Let her come to you."

Oh, like that would do any good. "You don't get it Tony," Bruce was starting to get very frustrated, he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be anywhere. Tony looked at him very confused, but remaining silent, waiting for Bruce to continue. "She was petrified, I've never seen her like that before." Bruce couldn't look at Tony while he was saying, it was too much. He was saying it like the world lost all color, as if he was on the brink of exhaustion waiting for a wind to sway him one way or another. When Bruce said it out loud, it made it real; and it felt like the only real hope left in the world was a bullet...but it's pointless.

For the record, Tony only looked a little horrified, and then he turned away, too. "Wow..."

"Yeah..."

For a few minutes, nobody said anything. Drowned in the silence of the thoughts consuming their minds. Tony was the first to speak up. "Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

Tony finally looked back to Bruce. "You're going to be okay." That definitely surprised Bruce. It wasn't 'It's going to be okay' or 'She's going to be okay'. Tony said 'you're'. It was like Tony knew exactly what Bruce was thinking, ending it all, everyone is afraid of him. He finally looked back at Tony, and he's looking at Bruce with sincere and kind eyes. Which is not a look Tony where's often, but more often than people may assume.

As nice as it was to hear Tony say that to him, for him to know Bruce so well. It's not true. Bruce will never be okay, and no one will ever be okay around him. Far as Bruce is concerned, he died when he created the Hulk, and he's been living in a corpse ever since.


	3. Bye bye, Zor-El

**Hey-o, hoped you liked the last chapter more, because the one before it-I wasn't too proud. I definitely didn't like how I did Bruce in the second chapter, was he better in the third? The last two chapters were mostly about Natasha (Why? Because she's my baby), so I'm doing this Bruce-centric chapter. Because, you know, to be fair...Brucie!**

 **So, who's ready for a chapter all about Bruce? *Raises both hands* Me!**

 **Hope you like the new cover art. Not my own, just found it.**

* * *

 _Chaos. It reigned all around him, it billowed in numbers, Bruce could barely even focus given the sheer intensity of the scene happening all around him. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of fire, smoke, and blood. People were running, screaming, crying out for their loved ones. It was a painting of tragedy, the sky was painted with dread, death, fear, and rage._

 _Why were they running?_

 _Bruce looked and saw his body was not his own, a green fist. Bulging muscles, snarled mouth, green skin, the body of a monster. His worst fear. The other guy was destroying everything, killing everyone. Bruce couldn't stop him, he tried, he really did, but he couldn't; he could never control him. The Hulk was far too powerful for Bruce's genius mind. He wanted to stop crushing people under his fists, stop running into buildings, stop spilling blood. Stop!_

 _But he didn't stop, people kept dying, kept screaming, kept bleeding, kept running like their lives depended upon it-because it did. He was ripping cars into two, jumping onto the sides buildings, smashing the window, landing on the sidewalk crushing whoever was underneath._

 _Kill! Destroy! Green! Those three things kept running over, and over again in his head. Nothing else. Like a record player, playing some Frank Sinatra wannabe on cocaine. It was horrible, disgusting, like a buzz. Bruce didn't want to be stuck inside the mind of a monster, it was maddening._

 _The Hulk eventually stopped, and for a second Bruce thought the horrific nightmare was finally over; but it was nowhere near over. The only reason the Hulk stopped his deadly rampage was because everyone was dead, he was standing in ruins. The ruins of cars, bodies, baby carriages, buildings, the streets were running with blood. It was quiet, oh so quiet, why did it have to be quiet? No sound of children, no sound of birds, no sound of car engines, no sound of laughter, no sound._

 _Not again...Not again...Please, no. I just want to stop killing._

 _Bruce wanted to break down, to curl into a little ball to shy away from the world, from himself. But Bruce wasn't even there, the other guy was there, and he wasn't leaving anytime soon. So, for now, Bruce will have to wait, and wait, and wait, until more blood is shed._

 _But it didn't remain quit forever, soon, the sound of a slow clap filled his ears. It was the only sound in the sea of deafening silence. "Congratulations, Bruce."_

 _No..._

 _No..._

 _No!_

 _Why was he here?_

 _Bruce could recognize that voice from anywhere._

 _Brian Banner stood right behind the green giant, also known as his son. He emerged from a building barely stand, courtesy of Bruce, slowing his slow clap to a stop. The other guy slowly turned around, and if was possible, his face snarled even more. His Father stood amongst the rubble of a soon to be forgotten city, almost smiling. The bastard was smiling. What part of this was worth be happy about? Why did his Father even need to be there? 'Father', does he even deserve that title? No, definitely not. "You got what you wanted. Everyone was afraid of you. 'Was' because they're all dead now." Brian spit out, like he was proud, or happy._

 _No. No. No. Stop, please! Just stop!_

 _The one person Bruce never wished to please,_ _was his Father, he never wanted anything to do with that man. How ironic is this? Standing face to face with a smiling psychopath, who is also known as his Father._

 _This isn't what Bruce wanted, he never wanted any of this. Why is he here? Why isn't the other guy killing him? If there was anyone Bruce wanted to kill, it was his Father. If anyone deserved the other guy's green fist, it was him. But he didn't move, he growled intensely at the gray haired man, but the Hulk didn't move. Just stayed still, and listened, like a dog. It disgusted him. The Hulk just stood there, patiently waiting, writhing in anger and agony._

 _It was like when Bruce was a child, patiently waited for his Father to badmouth him, to hit him._

 _"You became me," No. Bruce will never be him. Bruce will never be his Father. If it was possible, his skin was becoming greener, with a far more malicious intent. It was a sickening thought, the thought of Bruce becoming his Father. He wouldn't become a murderer, a destroyer of families. Bruce isn't that...right? "You're Mother must be so proud."_

 _Something inside Bruce snapped. Not okay. How dare he speak about her. Not okay. He has no right to talk about her; not after what he did. After what his actions did to destroy them from the inside; to rip their family apart from the moment Bruce was born. All thoughts of waiting patiently like when he was a boy, went out the window, and was replaced by blind rage._

 _The other guy lunged at him, but something was wrong._

 _He landed flat on his face, and got a mouth full of grass. For a few moments, Bruce just tried to figure out what happened; once his affairs were in order he lifted his from the ground and got a quite once over. He wasn't the Hulk anymore, Bruce's pale, human skin was the most convincing factor, and the fact that he could control his own body. Bruce saw that he wasn't even in the destroyed city, but a children's playground. Bruce was clad in clothing, not in the scraps of pants like usual, he was in jeans and a dark purple button up. Bruce's shirt was a little ruffled up, but that was it, well, his hair was in disarray, but he did just fall flat on his face, so that was to be expected._

 _Bruce stood up to get a good look around. The playground was abandoned, a long time by the looks of it. There were no children, the park was completely empty, the sky was very grim, depressing, grey. As if any happiness, any joy, any love; was completely dried up, and it left the sky empty. The entire playground was covered in rust, as if no child has played on it in years._

 _So empty..._

 _Completely devoid of love..._

 _It was sad, lonely, depressing, dark; not fit for a child. It wasn't fit for anyone, but it seemed fitting for Bruce to be there, like he was standing in the childhood he never received, untouched. Rotting away in the wind, it felt so dark there. The playground felt even more abandoned and devoid of life than the city the other guy just demolished. "This is what you've become?" Bruce's heart immediately breaks at the sound of her voice. He knew exactly who that was; Bruce actually wasn't sure if the sound of her voice broke his heart, or filled it; maybe it was both. He turns around and saw her sitting on one of rotting swings._

 _"Mom?" Bruce breathed out._

 _She looked so sad, and something else that Bruce isn't quite so sure of. His Mother was right in front of him, she was still so beautiful. It was hard for Bruce to wrap his head around the fact that his Mother was right in front of him. He didn't know whether to break down crying, or scream out in pure joy, so Bruce opted for the third door and stood still, slack jawed. "My beautiful baby boy..." Bruce smiled sadly at that, his eyes were burning. "How did this happen?" She asks more to herself than to Bruce. Bruce's face etched into a frown._

 _"What are you talk-" His question was cut off by her; Bruce was still trying to get over the fact that his Mother was right in front of him._

 _"You're just like him, Bruce." There's only one person she could be talking about. His Father._

 _No...Mom, no. Please don't say that._

 _It broke Bruce a little more to know that his Mother thinks he became just like his Father. He isn't him, he's not a ruthless bastard...right? She knew up close, just how bad his Father was, so for those words to come from her, felt more real than anything. "I'm so sorry. I was meant to prevent that." Her voice began to break, and few tears slipped out, down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, just for a few seconds to straighten out her face._

 _She thinks it was her fault that Bruce is like this? No, no it's not her fault. She never did anything bad, she was perfect. Bruce's chest tightened because his Mother was blaming herself, blaming herself because he's killed thousands of innocent people. That's what she was talking about. How he took the lives of so many people; because of freaking science. That's the similarity between Bruce and his Father. But it's not true, it's not true...Bruce took a step forward to prove how wrong she was, it more for Bruce to hear it than his Mother, but he didn't want her lasting memory of her son to be that she thought that him and his Father were similar. But something stopped Bruce cold in his tracks, something crossed her lips that he never expected._

 _"Are you going to kill me too, Bruce?"_

Bruce woke up instantly, leaving the horrors of his mind, his chest was heaving from the lack of oxygen. He was dripping in sweat, his brain running a mile a minute. Bruce usually has nightmares almost every night, but he has never had that one before. One of so much intensity.

 _What the heck just happened?_

Destroying the city to nothing but ruble, his Father showing up in the middle of the wreckage. Then Bruce somehow ends up in a deserted playground with his Mother.

Brian...He's not him. There is no way he could ever be him. He killed his Mother right in front of him. Bruce could never be that. He isn't ruthless, aggressive, he isn't a...monster.

Oh no...He won, his Father won. Brian always called him a monster, always said he wasn't normal, because he had his DNA. His Father's DNA is coursing through his veins, and it sickened him. It sickened Bruce to think that a part of his Father will always be coursing through his veins. It sickened him to know that his Father was right. Because Bruce is a monster.

His hands have leveled cities, destroyed families, caused the pain of so many loses.

Bruce isn't technically the one whose done those things, though. The one who is actually causing the destruction, will never care, he never cares about anything, he's only ever angry, oh so angry. He was bred out of pure anger, so he knows nothing but. Every time he comes out, it becomes trending. 'Hulk attacking Fort Knox!' or whatever. Those hands have painted the city red, and left nothing in the wake.

It was in the middle of the night when Bruce woke up, he looked out the front wall which was just a big window. The city that never sleeps, was rather quiet behind the walls of his bedroom. The lights of the city felt a little more dim than usual, maybe because Bruce couldn't really see the city, his mind was mostly focused on the demons of his slumber. His Father, his Mother...Himself.

It was always just too much; too much pain, too much blood, too much blame, too much. But Bruce can never escape it, it's hard to escape your demons when they're right under your skin. Just waiting for an opportunity to escape, and unleash what he is capable of; and his demon is capable of everything.

But that doesn't mean Bruce is him, he isn't is Father. He isn't him. He isn't him. Bruce is not Brian. He doesn't attack without question, he doesn't destroy the lives of everyone around him; except he does. Which makes it that much harder for Bruce to convince himself that he isn't his Father.

His mind seemed so much bigger than him, right now. Everything always seemed so much bigger than Bruce, and always so much smaller; so easy to crush; to die. Bruce went on primal instincts to protect himself, or to protect everyone from him. He curled his on his side into the fetal position, cradling his head. It looked like a child hiding from the monsters, except Bruce's monsters were so real, so deadly, they were him. He was hiding from himself, which is not an easy task.

Bruce's mind kept reverting to the nightmare, something seemed off, it didn't make sense. But what was it? Because everything about that nightmare seemed off, but one thing stood out in particular.

 _You got what you wanted. Everyone was afraid of you._

That's not what Bruce wanted, that's not what Bruce wanted at all. For everyone to be afraid of him; no. For Bruce not to fear anything, for him to find a cure, for him to die; yes. Then it clicked (partly) why Brian said that; Natasha. Natasha was afraid of him; but why was that so important? It doesn't make any sense. But Bruce did want Natasha to be afraid of him; everyone should be afraid of him, it's for their safety. Everyone should be afraid, everyone; because Bruce is a...monster.

They are all afraid because Bruce is a monster, everyone is afraid of him. Everyone who's ever been attacked by him, everyone who's been in the crossfire, anyone who's ever seen him, all terrified. Expect Natasha, until now. Natasha was the only person who wasn't afraid of Bruce; now they're all afraid. Because Bruce is a monster, and will always be a monster.

Last hope...

Natasha was his last hope; now they're all afraid. Bruce will always be a monster, always, no cure.

No hope. No cure. No hope. No cure. No hope. No cure. No hope. No cure. No hope. No cure. No hope. No cure. No hope...

But that doesn't mean Bruce is his Father, he would never, ever be him. Right? He's not him. He's not him. He's not him. He's not him. He's not him.

Thinking those three words over and over again in his head, was the only thing keeping Bruce on the ground. The only thing saving him from his haunted thoughts, save him from his mind consuming him whole. That Bruce is not his Father. But soon saying it in his mind isn't enough, it's not enough just to think it. So, while Bruce is still in the fetal position, he starts muttering the words.

"I'm not him."

"I'm not him."

"I'm not him."

'"I'm not him."

And maybe, for once, Bruce will actually believe it.

By 8:00 AM, Bruce stopped chanting the words. He was sitting up in the bed with his hair disheveled, staring at the rising sun with dead eyes. Bruce couldn't even feel the heat of the sun upon his skin, he couldn't feel anything. Not his heart pumping blood, not the breath passing through his lungs, no the cool air around him; nothing.

After hours and hours of chanting, Bruce didn't have it in him anymore to repeat the words. Every time those three words passed his lips, Bruce lost even more hope. It all just felt so pointless. He was always going to be a monster, he was always going to be the thing under a child's bed, Bruce was always going to be the one whom everyone feared. Nothing would ever be the same. That thought passing through is mind, chipped a little more of Bruce's soul away.

Bruce tried to move, to get up and start another dreadful day, but he couldn't. Bruce was powerless to move, he couldn't move his tired arm, or his tired hand, nor a tired finger; nothing would move. A part of Bruce didn't really care, though. What's the point? Get up and walk around, just so he can be another danger to society? No...no, that's...idiotic. Maybe Bruce should just stay here; and maybe, for once, Bruce wouldn't wake up in a pool of someone else's blood. Because that happens a lot more often than it should.

But he also knows that if he stays here, Tony would come barging in, listing hundred reasons why Bruce should get out of bed. Mainly because Tony has done that before, needless to say, Bruce did not want to go through that again. It was certainly annoying enough the first, no need for a second.

Bruce slowly removed himself from the bed, and walked to the bathroom, his tired form protested every step of the way. He stood in front of the mirror and finally got a good look at himself, the bags under his eyes, wrinkled clothes, pale skin. From anyone else's standpoint it might have been a little off putting to see Bruce like, but this is what he wakes up to almost everyday. He doesn't care anymore, Bruce has learned the hard way, there are far more important things than your appearance. I mean, why fix what's broken if it will just break again?

His hand grasped the cool metal handle and turned it, the warm water came pooling out and Bruce cupped his hands underneath the flow of water to splash some on his face. He hoped it would wake him up, but it didn't, at least, not as much as Bruce hoped it would.

Bruce looked into his reflection once more and could only think one thing.

 _Monster..._

Everything reminds Bruce that He, or at least something under him, is a monster. That he could destroy everything and everyone he loves. With that in mind, sometimes Bruce thinks it's a good idea to leave the tower, and go back to Calcutta. Maybe everyone would be safe then, Bruce has no idea what he would do if he lost any one of them.

Actually, Bruce tried to run away from the tower once and Tony caught him in the act; somehow five minutes later, everything was back in Bruce's room. Tony was actually the who convinced Bruce to come to the tower in the first place. After New York, He went back to Calcutta, two weeks later, Tony shows up and manages to convince Bruce to come to the tower. Bruce isn't really sure how he always manages to get roped up into these things.

But that doesn't change the fact that Bruce is a monster, something within him has leveled cities, destroyed homes, been the reason for so many funerals. He is the reason for so many deaths Bruce can't even count them.

Whenever he transforms, Bruce doesn't usually remember what happened, only what he wakes up in, a pool of blood, the rubble of a building. But sometimes, every once in a while, Bruce can hear them screaming, crying, begging, their bones breaking. It haunts him.

Like right now, Bruce is looking into reflection and can hear them screaming, so much screaming. Screams that he caused, screams that lead to thousands of deaths.

Staring at himself in the mirror while hearing their screams, Bruce knows it's all his fault. It burns him to know because of his mistake, thousands of people have died. And probably thousands more, more screams, more blood, more funerals.

It's all his fault. All his fault. With every passing second, the screams grow louder and louder, becoming unbearable. The scream of every child, every man, every woman, pass through Bruce's mind; and he can't take it. A surge of anger passes through him, through his bones, his skin, every fiber of his being. Before Bruce even realizes, his fist is in the mirror, shattering the glass around it.

It's like Bruce hoped that punching his reflection, would in turn, punch himself. But all it did was give him a few nasty scrapes. Bruce looked at himself in the shattered mirror and saw himself for what he truly felt like, shattered. His eyes were a tint of green, so Bruce slowly removed his fist and focused on his breathing. Now would not be a good time to go green.

 _Inhale ..._

 _Exhale ..._

Bruce backed away from the sink, still breathing in and out to get his heart rate down, he slowly sinks down onto the floor until his back is up against the cool porcelain of the tub.

 _Inhale..._

 _Exhale..._

 _Just calm down. Breathe. You're fine. Just breathe. Don't turn green. There's no reason for you to come out._

Bruce kept repeating things like that over and over again in his head, saying it not just to himself, but to the other guy, too. He hoped he would hear these things and stay away. He really can't go green right now. For a moment, Bruce heard a deep growl that reached his spine, a growl that came from the center of his mind, that came from the worst part of himself. That part of Bruce that wasn't himself. He stilled himself perfectly, like a statue, praying for the other guy to stay inside.

 _Don't turn green._

 _Don't turn green._

 _Don't turn green._

Bruce didn't turn green. His heart rate when down to normal, his eyes when back to a forest brown, everything was okay. Bruce raised his hand to get a good look at it, there was some dark red blood running down his knuckles; and it felt good. It felt good that he was in pain and got what he deserved. Bruce deserved to die, but that's out the window. So, for now, this was all Bruce had, a cut from glass, far too merciful for him, for the other guy. Nothing in comparison to what the other guy has done, it was too kind.

Bruce stood himself back up onto his feet and dully walked back over to the sink. He slid open the dark brown cabinet underneath the sink, and pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze. Bruce opened the bottle and gently poured it over his hand, as the burning sensation washed over him Bruce let out a small hiss of air. He then grabbed the gauze and wrapped it tightly around his hand, sealing the wound.

Turning his head into his shoulder, Bruce realized he really needed a shower. He grudgingly removed his jacket and shirt, revealing on his side under his right arm, a scar. About five inches long, was a jagged scar. It's the only one Bruce has on him, and it's not really one he likes to talk about.

* * *

Bruce was walking along the corridor, there was wood paneling and plants on one side, and stone and paintings on the other. Whoever was the sole designer of the tower was rather creative, for every different floor there was different design, all spread throughout.

It was eerily quiet down the hallway, some people might find that uncomfortable, but Bruce found it relaxing. There was no one around in sight, no AC/DC blasting in the speaker system (which happens a lot), perfectly quiet. It was zen, comforting, there was a force of peace in the silent air; but it was just Bruce, well, Bruce and the other guy. And the probably wasn't the best thing after what happened earlier that morning.

It gave time for Bruce to think, which is not usually a good thing. Him thinking, leads to bad places in his mind. It leads him to think about how much Bruce hates himself and the other guy, it leads him to think about running away, it leads him to think about people dying under a green fist. All of these thoughts pass through Bruce's mind quite frequently.

Along the walls of the corridor, were vibrating the silent thoughts of Bruce's mind, dark thoughts. But they are all Bruce can think about, nothing else. Sometimes, Bruce can escape whenever he's in the lab with Tony, it's nice like that, but when he leaves, the dark thoughts come back; they always come back. They can creep around the corner when Bruce least expects it, when he's sleeping, always waiting for a moment to attack; and Bruce doesn't do anything to stop it.

Why?

He deserves the dark thoughts, he is a monster. A cause of mass destruction, a threat to mankind. When all Bruce wanted to do was help people. That's part of the reason Bruce came to stay at the tower, to help people, maybe it would help Bruce sleep a little easier at night. As if what Bruce is doing right now, and what he was doing in Calcutta is going to make up for what he's done. But it's the only thing getting Bruce up in the morning, false hope.

The peaceful silence was disturbed. A clattering sound came from up ahead, drawing Bruce from his thoughts.

His senses went on alert, thanks to the other guy, Bruce started walking up ahead to figure out where that sound came from. Once he was at the end of the hallway he still didn't hear anything else, dead silence.

Except the silence was disturbed once more, another clattering sound and a string a curses. The sound was now behind Bruce, he walked backwards until standing st the entrance of a little den at the end of the corridor; there was a couch, chairs, a bar cart. Bruce heard another curse and his attention was drawn to the vent above the couch.

Realizing Bruce couldn't exactly unscrew the vent from the wall, he went with a different tactic. "Jarvis, if I ask you to get me visual, am I going to regret it?" he cautiously asked the A.I.

"There is a chance, sir."

Bruce could almost sense the tone in Jarvis' voice, and it almost made him laugh. It didn't, though, but it did cause for his lips to curl into a small smirk. "Isn't there always?" Which was basically Bruce's way of giving a green light.

A screen popped up in front of Bruce and it showed Clint hiding in the vent. It surprised Bruce for a second but then it kind of went away, because it's Clint, he should've seen this coming. But Clint didn't move from his spot when the screen showed up, he probably didn't notice it. "Jarvis, can you get me audio?" Jarvis obliged. "Um, Barton, what are you doing?" Bruce awkwardly asked him.

Clint jumped, effectively banging his head on the hood of the vent. Bruce held back a chuckle watching him. Clint rubbed his head. " _Ah, geez..."_ He finally faced the screen and looked at Bruce with wide eyes. _"Wow, it's like Fortress of Solitude 2.0."_ Of course, that's how Clint would respond to this...situation? Whatever it was, it was weird.

Bruce had to focus on not rolling his eyes at that. "Why are you hiding in the vent?" He dryly asked the archer who was laying down in the vent, like it was a crawl space.

 _"How'd you even know I was in here?"_ Clint asked, generally dumbfounded. There was a number of things that gave Clint away, the cursing, the clattering, Jarvis. For a master assassin, he wasn't too bright.

"I overheard your, uh," Bruce tried to think of a way of putting nicely. " _Colorful,_ language..." Guess that will have to work. He shrugged, this was a really weird conversation. And He hangs out with Tony most of the day, so Bruce has had his fair share of weird conversations. "Tipped me off," Bruce added, that was an understatement.

For a few seconds Clint didn't say anything, he just stared at Bruce, he said nothing, just stared. It was making Bruce very uncomfortable under his gaze, just what the heck was Clint thinking? _"I dropped the camera on my face."_ He said it like it explained everything that was happening in that moment. It did not.

Bruce did not expect that to come out of Clint's mouth. That just further brought on Bruce's confusion, what the heck was he doing with a camera? Does he even want to know? Probably not, but Bruce is going to ask anyway. "Why do you need a camera in a vent?" Bruce let out frustrated sigh before asking, "And again, _why are you in a vent?_ " He realized that Clint still hasn't answered his first question. Most people would have just left the conversation by now, but most people do not live in the tower, most people are not teammates with...whatever they are.

 _"Oh, I'm spying on Thor."_ Bruce just stared at his teammate through the screen with a dead expression. Clint really needs to be more verbal (never thought he would think that about Clint). Bruce spins his first two fingers in a forward motion, telling Clint that he needs more information than that. _"For blackmail."_ Clint added. For a second, Bruce thought there was more, but Clint didn't say anything else.

What the...that stumped Bruce. "Why?" Why the heck would anyone do that?

Clint just shrugged. _"Because..."_ He said, sounding like a nineteen year old.

Bruce stopped for a moment, when something clicks. "Do you-do you do that to everyone?" Bruce stuttered out, and awkwardly crossed his arms, hoping he was wrong. That would be very creepy.

Clint shook his head. _"Not everyone."_ He way too calmly replied.

His shoulders started to relax. But then Bruce realized something and tensed right back up. "Wait a sec," Bruce can't believe he didn't see this earlier. "By 'not everyone', do you mean Natasha?" Why would he spy on Natasha? Those two are stuck together like glue, they're probably dating. Plus, she's the most terrifying woman on the planet.

He heard laughing coming from the screen. _"Of course,"_ Clint just said like he was stating the most obvious thing in the world. _"I'm not a complete moron."_ Yeah, Bruce really, should have seen that coming. Only an idiot would use blackmail against Natasha.

"Hold on," Natasha was the only exception, which meant... "Do you...have _photographs_ of me?" Bruce fearfully asked. If Clint had photos of him, what exactly was going on in the photos. Because there are vents everywhere in the tower. Oh my...

 _"Saving 'em for a rainy day, Banner."_ Clint told Bruce with a slight chuckle, confirming what Bruce did not want confirmed.

A shiver ran down his spine. Photos of what? Does Bruce even want to know? Because it's probably best if he didn't. He was surprised at first that Clint uses blackmail he gets while in a vent. But now that Bruce has had time to process it, it's not really all that shocking. Bruce isn't actually sure why he didn't suspect it sooner. It's make perfect sense that Clint would do something like that.

Bruce isn't the most talkative person out there, so that gives a lot more time to observe, to figure out each of their personalities. Steve is a good man, born leader, but he can get dark. Thor seems quite dense at first, but he is actually incredibly clever, and way too cheery for a man whose seen war his entire life. Clint is dark and brooding at a glance, but he likes to spend most of his time playing pranks and is quite the comedian. Tony is a man who acts like nothing is serious, plays it off as one big joke, but he bears the weight of the world. Natasha...Natasha is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.

Bruce realized he was still in a conversation, a very weird conversation, so he wraps it up quickly. "Okay, well, I'm gonna go. Cause this is, uh," How to describe it? How about what Bruce has been thinking the entire past ten minutes. "Well, it's weird."

Clint turns away from the screen and back to the camera in his hand with only one thing to say. _"Bye bye, Zor-El."_ He lamely waved his hand without looking at the screen.

Bruce ended the video screen, while not holding back the eye roll this time.

While Bruce was glad the screen of Clint laying down in a vent was gone, he felt the shroud of darkness consume him once more. It's not like Bruce tries to think of all these vicious thoughts, they happen of their own accord, and Bruce doesn't know how to stop them. He doesn't know how to stop them from consuming his mind, his soul, his bones, his DNA, his everything. Anything that breathes, anything that moves, anything that resembles something good; Bruce's thoughts destroy them instantly.

The thoughts burned at his skin, making their way through each and every cell, till he is nothing more than a shell. Bruce gained this unrelenting desire to rip off his skin, to maybe ease some of his discomfort. It always felt like his body was not his own, that every structure and organ belonged to someone else. Bruce can feel the other guy bubbling at the surface, crawling his way through every part of him, till he completely consumes Bruce.

Ever since Bruce first woke up, the sensation just kept growing, and getting his hand cut by the glass from the mirror certainly did not help. It's like a force is in chest, constricting right underneath his ribs, and it's growing, and growing until Bruce's body cannot handle it anymore and his green friend rips out.

* * *

Bruce was in the elevator that was ascending to the lab.

The dark, sleek, metal walls of the moving, small elevator along the strong cable coincide of what was going on in his mind. So dark, so small, never ending, always moving, can't slow down, won't stop. Bruce can feel the other guy riding the waves right at the surface, he can feel the small vibration of metal walls, the 'bump' of the elevator as it rides the cable.

Whenever the other guy wants to come out, Bruce can sense everything far more than usual, and it's a nightmare. The wheels of his brain never stop turning, his thoughts never stop running. It's like the entire weight of the world is on his shoulders, and it crushes him, but Bruce wakes up and the weight crushes him all over again; a continuous, vicious cycle.

Bruce lets out a long breath, as a way to ease some of the tension, it doesn't do much. He presses his arms against the wall of the elevator and leans forward, telling himself to just calm down and breath. The small elevator felt so much smaller, like a box he was forever trapped in. The walls closing in, and in, and in, it made Bruce feel so small. He can feel the beads of sweat trickling down his face, his chest, his back, the force in his chest is growing even stronger, more unrelenting. The other guy was just itching to get out and crush him, take over and consume him whole.

Bruce looked up and saw that the elevator still had ten floors to go, but for Bruce, it might as well have been 1,000 floors. But he just kept focusing on his breathing, he cannot Hulk out, right now. He would destroy everyone in the tower, and then all of New York.

All of a sudden, the doors finally opened with a 'ding' and Bruce could breath a little easier knowing that Hulking cage was just a few yards away.

But that would have to wait, because out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw Tony frantically running past him. Seriously the guy was really in a hurry. "Tony, slow down, where's the fire?" Bruce called out to him. The other guy started to growl in his mind, because now Bruce was waving off to let him out.

"Testing room!" Tony called out over his shoulder, running down the hallway where there was apparently an actual fire.

For a few seconds, Bruce just stood there, rapidly blinking. Thinking if that really just happened. But Bruce heard the feint cry of the alarm, so apparently it really did happen. "That was suppose to be rhetorical..." Bruce muttered under his breath, and started to run after Tony.

He ran all the way into the testing room. The testing room was this room to test weapons and new suits, it was large enough to accommodate for it. There were ramps at either end of the room the led to a oval-shaped tunnel that circled the entire room from above, there were windows on side of the tunnel so you could see into it. It was made to test anything to do with flight.

When Bruce made it into the testing room, his face etched into a shocked expression, he saw Tony with a fire extinguisher blowing the white foam over what looked a pair of pants hooked around with wire holding it up, caught on fire.

Two things stumped Bruce at that point. 1) What was Tony doing using a fire extinguisher when there is a built-in, fire safety system in the tower? 2) Why were a pair of pants on fire?

With each spray of the extinguisher, the flame grew smaller, and smaller. After about 45 seconds, the flame was completely gone, and a pair of charred pants was in its wake. The blaring alarms finally stopped screaming in his ear, which did not help Bruce's heart wiped his brow with the hand the wasn't holding the red canister. "Wow..." he breathed out, looking at the burned pants, that may as have been in the garbage for a week. Tony then looked up at Bruce, and breathing heavily from the fire. "Well, that was uncalculated."

Bruce just stared at Tony. That's what the man has to say after setting a pair of pants on fire? Clearly, Bruce is missing some important pieces of information. Like, why the heck did he ever leave Tony alone in the lab? Bruce was still sweating and trying to control his breathing because of the other guy. He really needs to get to the Hulking cage soon. "What? The pants on fire? Yeah, that's, uh, usually uncalculated." Bruce dryly quipped. "Why are pants on fire?" He asked with a slight sigh, he felt his chest constricting more and more.

The moment Tony looked guilty happened so quickly, Bruce swore he imagined it. "A friend needed a tailor." Tony told him as coolly as he could. Bruce cocked an eyebrow at that. "After making so many suits for the team, I've gotten amazingly good at a thread and needle. Seriously, it's embarrassing." He said in all seriousness, and Bruce did not doubt _that_ part for a second.

"And, What? Your friend just so happen to need fireproof pants?" Bruce gestured to blackened clothing. He could feel the other guy growling in his head, but for the time being, Bruce was able to hold him off.

Tony's face immediately brightened. _Crap..._ "No. But how cool would that be?" He said grinning like a maniac.

"Me and my big mouth..." Bruce muttered to himself so quietly, that Tony didn't hear him say anything. It was never a good idea to give Tony ideas, not unless you want the world to end. He then remembered that there were no sprinklers jetting out water, which is what's suppose to happen. "Tony, why didn't the sprinkler system go off?" It was like only half of the safety system was working, only the alarms went off, but no water.

"I, uh..." An awkward, and uncomfortable look overtook Tony's face. "Piece of advice, Bruce. When you have a few shots of whiskey with your dinner, do not go back into the lab." Tony admitted with a grimace. "Bad things happen." He said with a full on shudder. Tony had a very active evening with Pepper, that involved lots of drinking. All of the alcohol caused his brain to storming up with ideas, left and right. Needless to say, Tony immediately left for the lab...it did not go so well. "Must've tripped a wire." He confessed, more to himself than to Bruce. "Eh, I'll fix it later." Tony shrugged it off with a wave of his hand.

 _"Lovely..."_ Bruce drew out through his teeth, with a flat expression. But he couldn't worry about that right now, Bruce could feel his cells breaking apart one, by one, and realized he couldn't hold back for much longer. "Uh, Tony, um..." He said, drawing Tony's attention back to the conversation, and not the remnants of last night, while taking off his shirt. Which was basically code for 'get me to the Hulking cage, _now'_ or very bad things are going to happen. Part of Bruce's chest hair was sticking to him because of the sweat. He felt like a volcano drunk on kerosene.

Tony knew that Bruce had to get to the Hulking cage, but he couldn't resist to have a little fun first. His lips curled into a slight smirk. "Bruce, I am flattered, really, I am." Bruce's face deadened immediately. "But I'm with Pepper, so..." Bruce was in no mood for games, and neither was the other guy. His eyes, for half a second, turned a shade of green, before Bruce did his best to blink it away, letting out a small breath as he did it. The other guy was getting harder, and harder to hold off. Tony must've noticed because he shut up his joking instantly. "Okay, okay, letting off steam, got it..." Tony mumbled out. He went over to start to walk with Bruce out of the testing room, and Bruce let out a small breath of relief. But that didn't stop then tension in his chest.

While walking out, Tony noticed the bandage hand on Bruce from earlier that morning, and his faced turned into a slight frown. "What happened there?" Tony asked casually but concerned, lazily pointing at the hand.

Bruce froze for a moment, of course, Tony was going to notice. Tony notice's everything, it's kind of terrifying. But he did not want to talk about it, Bruce barely want to acknowledge what happened himself. That he looked into the mirror and could see the other guy in himself, the other guy that put thousands of people in the ground, that leveled cities, and Bruce wanted nothing more than for his reflection to actually be him. So he could punch his lights out, and when he injured his hand, Bruce felt a little better, well, once the other guy calmed down. Yeah, Bruce definitely did not want to talk about that. "I tried cutting off my hand with a machete, and I missed." He sarcastically told Tony with a straight face. Tony just blinked in response, not expecting that to be what Bruce would say. "I'm kidding," Bruce admitted after a moment, enjoying Tony's expression. Tony didn't seem satisfied with that, his concern didn't waver, or go away. "It's nothing." Bruce told him with feigned honesty.

Tony still studied his face for a more couple seconds. Looking for something to tell him differently, a twitch of the eyebrow, rapid blinking, looking in the other direction. But there was nothing; Bruce told him 'it was nothing' with a straight face. But Tony didn't believe it, he knew better, but he wasn't going to press the issue. That would just make things worse. "Okay." He finally said with a shrug.

Bruce could sense that Tony was still worried, but decided to stay quiet, and he was grateful for that. He knew that Tony will always worry about him, Bruce wish he wouldn't, he wasn't worth it. The only thing he deserved, was to die; but his demons, his careless mistake, prevented that. Bruce will never deserve someone to worry about him.

They finally made it to the Hulking cage. When you first enter, you step onto a platform that has all the monitors and controls, down the steps of the platform is the Hulking cage. It's the length of of the entire room, and easily 12 ft. high, it's trimmed with red but mostly consisted of glass. The shape of it is a square, not circular like the one on the helicarrier. The front wall is the only part you can walk across and can see into, the rest of it is sanctioned with the walls of the rest of the room, like a regular bedroom, with a really big window.

The doors of the cage were already open, ready for the other guy to have a hay day. Bruce walked down the steps with either hesitation or relief, he wasn't really sure. Because he was relieved to finally get this tightening feeling out of his chest, but he's also hesitant because he's about to let the other guy take over; to no longer be in control. The walls of the cage are strong, strong enough to hold back Thor. He never had a reason to worry, but they never make Bruce feel safe, because everything under the other guy's fist seems like paper.

Bruce stood inside of the cage, waiting for Tony to close the doors. Inside the cage, there were these high-tech, blue lights everywhere, so it wasn't dark on the inside. Tony gave Bruce a thumbs up, which basically means 'are you ready?' and Bruce gave a thumbs up in response 'yes'. But Bruce was never ready for this, but he didn't really have a choice. "Let's get this party started, mean green." Tony stated, he was at one of the consoles and clicked a few buttons, and the doors began to close.

The doors to the cage were closed, and Bruce was completely closed off from everyone, and everything else. While Bruce gained some relief from being in a cage, he hated it more than anything else. Behind those walls, everyone was safe from him, trapped in a cage, walled away from society. Trapped in a cage, like an animal, which is fitting because something inside Bruce is an animal. In that cage, Bruce loses himself completely.

He hated that term, 'cage', it was nothing like a cage, it was more on the lines of a prison. A prison of which Bruce unleashes his inner demons, to 'cool off'. It almost felt selfish for Bruce to be in there; letting out the other guy, putting everyone at risk, just so he could breath a little easier. Selfish.

Four walls, only one purpose, only one thing this cage was created for. Every time Bruce sees the retched thing, he's reminded of why it was created, and that every time he walks in, he walks in for only one reason; to let out the other guy, to let out the thing he hates the most.

The time of holding off the other guy until Bruce was securely in the cage, was up. He could feel his DNA changing, the cells turning over a new leaf, his bones growing and morphing to something new. The Hulk was taking over, changing everything, reshaping his mind; Bruce was fighting off every instinct to fight off the other, to stay in control. He never wanted to share his mind with something else, but Bruce is, now he has to live with it. He has to let his demons take over, and pray that maybe it will be okay. But it's never okay, it was never okay for Bruce to give the reigns to the other guy. To be striped down to his barest parts for the entire world to see.

 _I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare._

Bruce could hear the growls in the back of his mind growing louder and louder, until the sound of his snarling teeth from the depths of his throat were all he could hear. He felt his skin changing, taking on a new color, a new strength, a new body of something else. Bruce felt vibrations of his muscles shifting, and growing twice it's size to support something so much stronger than him.

Soon, Bruce's mind was no longer his own. His body was not his own. His DNA was not his own. Bruce was tucked away, hidden far from everyone, under the weight of a monster.

Tony watched as Bruce slowly turned into a shade of green with an 8 ft. body, he transformed so easily, like a river flowing over stone. Bruce only ever transformed like that, was when the transformation was a mutual decision. It went smoothly, but Tony knows that Bruce hated every second of it, but fighting it would be so much worse, and so much more painful. Bruce fighting it would be pointless, the other guy always wins.

Tony was watching the other guy storming around the cage from the monitors on the platform. He was either walking around in circles or running like a maniac, hurling his body into the walls. He was ticked off, as always; big green machine of unadulterated rage.

The sound of his vicious howls, grunts, and yells, echoed off the four walls; and Tony could hear them crystal clear. Those walls might be thick enough to stop ten tanks, but nothing could ever hold the sound of the Hulk. Like a thousand wolves, howling at the moon with an avalanche in the background.

But what Tony didn't know what that from the doorway, hidden from view, was Natasha watching the whole thing.

Her heart rate was running a mile a minute, the last time she saw the Hulk was during the New York. She still remembered exactly what it felt like to be entirely helpless, to know that there was nothing she could do. Natasha watched as his snarling face rammed the glass, trying to break out, yelling so loud that she could feel it run down her spine. Her entire being was was forming sweat, down her back, her face, her chest, everywhere.

Natasha heard the growls from upstairs, so she followed them to confront her fears, face it head on, instead of being a coward. But now that she's here, she's completely forgotten the reason for coming in the first place. Natasha's heart was beating so loud it soon began to drown out the other guy completely. The only sound Natasha heard was her heart rapidly beating beneath her ribs; not the wind passing through the vents, nor the 'hum' of all the electrical devices, and certainly not the Hulk rampaging within the cage.

The fear was coursing through her entire body, and it wouldn't leave. Natasha could feel it from the roots of her blood red hair, to her bone-like fingers, and all the way to her toes. She felt it moving through her bloodstream, taking over all of her cells. It left Natasha in a hollowed state.

 _Helpless..._

 _No escape..._

 _No control..._

 _Helpless..._

The inevitable fear began to control her body, it started to move Natasha's legs; and she didn't stop it. It took control of her muscles, it took control of her bones, and Natasha began to move; like a puppet. Natasha was always being pulled along by strings, the red room, KGB, then SHIELD also known as Hydra; but never by her own body. It was rather her own fear that was controlling her, not her body, but it soon morphed into one.

Natasha could care less, she just wanted to leave; and so she did.

By the time Bruce transformed back, it was already two hours later, and Natasha was long gone.

He could feel himself slowly gain back his senses, his bones shrinking back to their original size and the muscles with them, his skin could no longer be used as camouflage for Kermit the Frog. Bruce had his mind put back into place once more, his thoughts were of his own sound mind, from a sound body.

Well, they will be once Bruce gets out of the hazy fog his goes through every time Bruce transforms back. Transforming into the other guy was bad, but so was transforming back. Bruce didn't feel at home in his own skin, his skin felt like a second skin, like a mask. And Bruce was always left with the impending fear of ' _what did he do this time?'_ and it felt like every time, that fear alone, was going to kill him. That fear made Bruce feel so small, so vulnerable, crumpled up like a piece of paper. His head would always be pounding, like it got trample on by a herd of elephants; he could feel every strand of hair upon his head.

But the fear...

That sense of doom...

There was nothing quite like it. Bruce would hone his senses in search of the sound of screaming, the smell of blood, the sight of destruction; anything that would tip him off that the other guy made a big mess. It didn't matter if Bruce was in the Hulking cage, his senses were a primal instinct, his fear was a reflex; just waiting for a sign that he acted the acts of a monster once more.

Once Bruce realized that no harm was done, that there was destruction, he pulled himself into a sitting position while the palm of hand was at his temple. Bruce's head was driving him crazy, but that's what happens when a green rage monster takes over. He'd rather have his head hurt than have anyone else dying, far better than the alternative.

The doors were still closed, which meant that Tony was still giving him time to cool off. He was still at the console waiting for Bruce to give him the 'okay', he would only open the doors when Bruce said it was okay; let him come out on his own time. Tony never left either, Bruce always felt safer when there was someone watching the other guy's every waking move in case something went wrong.

Bruce eventually felt himself completely, the other guy was gone; it was just Bruce. Bruce with the just the scraps of his pants. He looked down at his legs and saw what was left of his pants and let out a groan. That was another downside to the Hulk, his clothes kept getting decimated. The amount of shirts and pants Bruce goes through per week, is kind of insane.

His heart rate calmed down, and Bruce let an even and steady breath. Bruce stood up and all his bones were protesting, one hand gripped the front of his pants, so they wouldn't fall down for the whole world to see, because that's happened far more than it should. He slowly trudged over to the front of the cage, letting Tony know to open the doors. There was a slight 'whoosh' when the glass and red doors slid open, separating the barrier between Bruce and the rest of the world, nothing to protect them anymore. Before Bruce had a chance to step out, Tony walked out to him with sweats in his hands, they have this routine down to a 'T'. "Might want to cover up." Tony said and handed Bruce the clothes.

"Thanks..." Bruce muttered and walked out of the cage over to one of the side doors that were on either side of the room to change.

A few minutes later Bruce came out with black sweat pants and a gray sweat shirt. He tiredly walked over to the steps of platform ans sat down, the transformation always took a lot out of him. He kept trying to convince himself, that the Hulk was away in his mind, that he's himself now, that everyone's safe; but they're never safe, the other guy can jump out at any moment. Because of that, the agonizing fear never seems to go away.

 _Maybe it worked this time..._

Bruce didn't just Hulk out to let off steam, there was another reason, so maybe when Bruce transforms, he doesn't feel like he's doing this for nothing, that there's a reason for putting everyone in danger once a week; a sense of purpose.

Tony eventually sat down next to Bruce on the steps, just to let him know he wasn't alone. He wanted Bruce to know that he will never be alone in this, and he was grateful for that. Bruce never said anything on the lines of 'thanks for staying', he usually never said anything after transforming, he was too busy being consumed by morbid thoughts. But he never pushed Tony away either, which meant that Bruce wanted company, he was just never going to admit that. Because being alone, with a mind like Bruce's, is the worst thing. It takes control over everything, and killing it all in the process; like cancer.

For a little while, the two just contemplated in silence, just a little bit of peace for a while, can do some good. Bruce knew at some point he was going to have to ask, just get it out of the way; so he let out a deep sigh and asked Tony. "Did we get anything?" Bruce asked hopelessly, because Bruce eventually figured it out that, hope is the worst thing you can do to a person. Every time it's taken away, you lose a little bit more of yourself, and you don't go back to rock bottom, you dig 50 ft. deeper, and lay there to die.

Tony, for a second, thought about lying, telling Bruce that they did find something; but he already knew that would be a horrible idea, to give false hope. So, he just sadly smiled, and told him the truth. "No," he shook his head. "Empty handed." Tony really wished he had better news for Bruce, but there was nothing.

Bruce let out a sigh, of course, there was nothing; there was always nothing. He doesn't even know why he's still letting it get to him, Bruce and Tony have been going down this road long enough to know that they were never going to find anything. It was just all so pointless. He's been turning into his Father, he has been for years, and he's been wasting all this effort to stop something that cannot be stopped. "We're never going to find a cure." Ever since Bruce moved in, him and Tony have been working day and night to find a way to rid of the other guy once and for all.

At first, Tony tried to convince Bruce to embrace the other guy and not find a cure. But he found out that Bruce is extremely stubborn when it comes to his greener side; and Tony saw how much it was killing him to live everyday with something else under his skin, so he caved and decided to help Bruce be free of his green shackles. "Don't say that, we're going to make a breakthrough...eventually." To be honest, Tony was starting to lose hope, too. They've been at this for so long and haven't found anything.

"It's been ten months, and we haven't made an inch of track." Bruce pointed out. Eleven months ago, Bruce moved into the tower, ten months ago, Bruce and Tony started to work on a cure. Five months ago, Bruce started to lose hope, two weeks ago, Tony began to lose as well; but he'll never tell Bruce that, it'll wreck him.

It's true, they haven't a single scrap of data for a cure. "Took Edison 10,000 tries before he finally managed to get his invention to work." Tony retorted.

It didn't make Bruce laugh, Tony isn't sure if he's ever heard Bruce laugh, but cause his lips to curl into the smallest of smiles. Then he let out a light groan, filled with amusement. "How did I know you were going to throw that in my face?" He asked, while lightly scratching the top of his head.

"That's like the go to line for when someone wants to give in." Tony said with complete honesty. Because it's true, whenever someone wants to give up, someone else will always mention Edison and his light bulbs.

"Are you gonna give me some Nike commercial next? Just do it?" Bruce asked, feeling slightly better. Slightly. All hope has completely escaped him. That was clearly evident from earlier that morning when Bruce woke up in sweats after having a demon of a nightmare. If there was a shred of hope, that dream, sucked it dry. But it wasn't the dream, though. The nightmare just shed a little light; that it was seeing the person who he's attacked and wasn't afraid of him, turned out to be completely terrified; is what rid Bruce of all hope.

Tony can see it in Bruce's eyes, that he's a little bit lighter; but he also knows that on the inside, he's still rotting. Tony has never seen Bruce completely happy, everyday he shows up in the lab with bags under his eyes, a morbid expression, and a broken soul. But, to be honest, they all have a broken soul. "It is the best back up if Edison doesn't work."

Bruce does let out a morbid laugh, he does those sometimes, maybe even a chuckle. But he has never laughed out of pure happiness, joy, or glee; not completely. "And what if I told you that a man who created the light bulb after 10,000 tries isn't going to convince me that there's a cure out there for me?" His laugh left a dark and hopeless expression forever carved onto on his face.

Tony thought about it for a moment, before he shrugged. "Just do it?" Tony isn't exactly a life coach.

Bruce let out a light snort, but it was only light in appearance; behind the walls, it was dark and heavy, gruesome and lost. It was a cry for help out into the dark abyss, a cry that will never be found. He keeps sending out a life line, but no one has ever seemed to catch him; the only person to ever get close enough was Tony. He was like the smallest light in the distance, and Bruce kept swimming towards him, but he never seems to get a good grasp from falling into the time he comes up for air, that little light is still there; but it's always so freaking far away.

He knew, Tony knew that Bruce kept slipping farther and father away from his humanity; and he was determined to keep that from happening. Because not only was Tony the smallest light in Bruce's life; but Bruce was one of the paved roads for Tony when he had to walk through the Andes, the other paved road was Pepper. They were both still drowning, but Bruce was also being buried by an avalanche, and burned by a volcano. Tony knew he wouldn't ever be enough for Bruce, but he will never, ever stop being there for him. "Listen..." Tony started with a deep sigh. "It might ten years, might be twenty, or it could be tomorrow; I just don't know." He really doesn't know. Science is made up of numbers; cold, hard facts; and lots of guessing. "But I swear to you, by my dying breath, I will find you a cure." Tony's gaze was steady, unchanging; true, so sure of himself. Because it is true, Tony will use his last, dying breath, to make sure Bruce will one sane mind; and never get low again.

But, for a split second, every time Bruce transforms, and every time Bruce transforms back, he gets low again. It would be easier to just end it all. But then Bruce remembers swallowing a bullet, and the other guy spitting it out. But the thought doesn't leave him, not completely, not forever. It was just one time, that feeling got so strong, it took control. And even though Bruce woke up, a little bit more of him died that day.

 _False hope._ It sucks.

Bruce listened to Tony words, intently, sincerely. He knew that Tony was speaking the complete, and utter truth; Bruce could see it in his eyes; determination. That's a strong force, determination; you don't win wars from brute force, you win it from the tenacity to not give up. That is exactly what Tony was radiating off, in extreme numbers. "I know." Bruce simply told him. Because he did know. He knows Tony, he knows that he is not the type of man to give up, ever; he's way too stubborn. Sometimes it was good thing, and sometimes it was a bad thing; on that day, it was a very good thing.

A promise; Tony was never going to break it, ever. But Bruce knew that all of their efforts were going to go to waste, he knew that promise was one not worth making. A cure will never be found, it was all lost in the wind. Bruce is the who put this on himself, now he has to deal with it.

* * *

On the rooftop of the skyscraper with the big 'A' was someone who was lost. They lost their way a long time ago, fighting a losing battle. A man stood so high in the sky on that rooftop, he felt as if he could touch the heavens. But at the same time he felt so low on the ground, one wrong move, and he would fall out the other end of the Earth. He was an empty vessel, void of anything; anything that lived within him kept dying. The newest death: Hope. Hope is always 50/50, a high stake gamble, a good hand, or a bad hand. That man was dealt one of his worst and final hands.

Bruce was lost in a fog on the rooftop, hoping for an answer. A sign, that all of this was worth it, that there was a reason for everything, that he's not just falling into a bottomless pit...just something. Because without that, Bruce will be a monster for the rest of his life, a danger to society, something to stop him from turning into his Father. He's already turned into what his Father told Bruce he was: a monster. He would grind that into his mind everyday; that anything that touches his hands, will die. Oh, the irony. If only his Father could see him now.

A thousand questions kept running through Bruce's mind, never letting it be at peace. All the thoughts that are created there, keep him up at night, and on the off chance Bruce does go to sleep, his mind is plagued with his slumbered demons. They never leave him alone, always knocking on the door, but last night-the door was blown off the hinges. It took the small amount of Bruce's hope for a cure that he had left, evaporated into thin air. Now, forever in time, Bruce will always be a monster, and the monster will always be waiting to bare his teeth. He will always be waiting to destroy everything in his past.

 _Is my Mother really disappointed in me? Most likely._

 _Am I my Father? There is a definite chance._

 _Is there hope for a cure? Was there ever?_

 _Did I do my Mother wrong? Of course, I did._

But before Bruce could become even more lost in his thoughts, something beautiful happened. The sun was setting upon the city, ending another day, waiting for a new one to begin. The sky was bright with the colors of red, yellows, orange, and purple; as if it were ablaze. It danced across the glass of every skyscraper in the city, which just enhanced the beauty of it all; then the body of water surrounding New York, reflected the sky, like a mirror; it was absolutely gorgeous. Breathtaking. As if someone could only see it in their imagination, maybe not even that.

It didn't give Bruce hope, it was oh so rare for Bruce to be hopeful. But it gave him something else that Bruce desperately needed, it gave him warmth, and more importantly; love. He looked into the sun that lowering further, and further down below to the Earth, and the rose gold across the sky was growing richer and deeper, with every passing second. And what Bruce saw, was every good thing that has ever happened in his life; he watched the sun dip down, and only felt safe. For half a second, Bruce didn't feel like a danger to others; for half a second, Bruce felt human.

Bruce comes when the sun sets everyday, because this is the only true couple seconds of peace he ever gains. He also made a promise; but that's a story for another time. All of the worries of his mind, and thoughts of the other guy, ideas of eating another bullet, completely disappeared from his mind. Whenever Bruce sees the the sunset, he is at peace; it's his favorite time of day. Each one gets more beautiful than the last.

 _Do you see it, Mom?_

Bruce silently asked his Mother in the back of his head, every time he watches the sun go to sleep, he can feel his Mother's presence stronger than ever.

 _I do, Bruce. It's beautiful._

A part of Bruce, heard his Mother answer back. Any fear of his Mom being disappointed in him, disappeared the moment he heard his Mother answer. She wasn't mad, Bruce could tell. There was no hate, or sadness in her voice; only love, and adoration. It was just an echo in the back of his mind, could have been a simple trick of the mind, but as cheesy as it sounds, Bruce heard it from his heart; it was enough.

Bruce wasn't the only one on the rooftop that evening, deep in the shadows, near the elevator, was Natasha.

She was sneaking around again, and somehow managed to run into Bruce for the second time that day. Well, to be fair, the first time technically wasn't Bruce, it was his greener self. But these days, to Natasha, those two were morphing into one. It was just her minds playing tricks on her, deceiving her, like always; but she couldn't shake it that time. Something inside Natasha snapped when she had the nightmare of him, her fear of him was always dormant, but that night it woke up. A fear she has been avoiding for a few years, came at full force, all in one go; it was rather overwhelming.

Natasha could feel her body start to leave once more, to hid away, like a coward. Her entire being was entering fight or flight mode, a primal instinct, of one she could not escape. Maybe when her newfound fear first entered her, Natasha would try to fight it, like the stairwell; but all the fight in Natasha was drained, it's always been drained, she's just been running on empty.

But something inside her, made Natasha stop dead in her tracks. Something felt different; lighter. She took a closer look at Bruce, she wasn't able to his Bruce's face, only his back, but something about him felt different than all the other times Natasha has seen him.

He looked relaxed, not on edge, like usual. He seemed calm and peaceful, not dangerous. All of the vibes Natasha was getting off of Bruce, and none of them were bad, none of them reminded her of the Hulk. She wasn't getting any painful flashbacks at the sight of the doctor, which is what usually happens. The only thing Natasha could read off of Bruce, was that he was completely content. A small part of Natasha was still afraid, but she doesn't think it was because of Bruce, but maybe that other guy is right underneath his skin; and can jump out at any moment.

For a moment, Natasha thought about going over to talk to him, get rid of her fear once and for all. But the closer she looked at him, the more she realized that this moment was a private matter. Something for Bruce alone, and Natasha was intruding. The more she lingered, the more it felt wrong to be there. At least Bruce hasn't spotted her yet, so she can still slip out unnoticed. A shadow of the night.

So, that's exactly what Natasha did; and this time, it wasn't out of fear, but out of respect.


	4. I'm afraid of the Hulk

**I noticed that the last couple of chapters didn't have a lot of dialogue, so hopefully this one has a lot more. They were also a little bit rocky, but I think I have a better grasp now.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

It's been a week since Natasha moved into the Tower, and it has been one of the weirdest weeks of Natasha's life. Living with her teammates was something Natasha never expected, and her doing it willingly, was something she expected even less. But it's been a week and-Natasha will never tell another soul-but it's not as bad as she thought it would be. Definitely wasn't perfect, but nothing ever is, but it wasn't too bad; better than all the other crap infested places Natasha has lived in. There's already been about five explosions in the Tower, they all came from the lab, all experiments exploded because of Tony. That was something Natasha was never going to get used to, living with Tony-freaking-Stark.

She wasn't sure if that place was going to permanent, but if life kept going in the same direction, then it won't. That's okay. Natasha has learned not be attached to anything, this is just a living situation. Even though the Tower wasn't too bad a place to live, she still questions why she ever moved in. Now, she was just counting down the days until she has to leave, her average was about six months.

Natasha hasn't spoken with Bruce since they met in the hallway, near the stairwell. They haven't even been near each other since she spot him on the roof, staring into the sunset. He looked so peaceful up there, in no way, shape, or form, did Bruce have any resemblance of a monster. He was hundred percent human, for a couple of seconds, Natasha forgot that the big guy was living inside of him. For some reason, though, they haven't said one word to each other. Natasha isn't sure why that happened, it just did; it's been five days or so, and no interaction. Maybe Bruce is avoiding her, he wasn't all that talkative near the stairwell, either. Natasha just thought all that changed after Bruce sought her out onto the rooftop, during her first night there.

But they haven't seen each other at all, Natasha hasn't tried to reach out to him, guess that fear was even stronger than she thought. Bruce is actively avoiding her, and it's so weird, whenever she enters a room where Bruce is, he will immediately leave. It happened in the kitchen, it the hallway, and the very awkward time when they were both trapped in the elevator and couldn't escape, then Jarvis had the wonderful idea of playing elevator music, which only enhanced the strain. Needless to say, it has not been going well.

This morning Natasha woke up by having Clint drag her out of bed to get a cup of coffee. Which was really confusing because there's about 200 coffee makers in the Tower. But she's also known Clint long enough to know that he's really picky about his coffee. But that doesn't change the fact that Clint got Natasha up at 4 o' clock in the morning. She's been trained to survive with no sleep up to a week and a half, but someone better be prepared to lose a body part if they wake Natasha up before she's awake. Natasha was not happy, she kept sending Clint glares of death, but he was really determined to get his coffee; not even Natasha's promise of bodily harm was going to stop him.

She had to give the guy props for setting with such determination to get a cup of coffee, but later, she was going to destroy him. That might not be figurative...oh, well.

Natasha stared at Clint across the table in the coffee shop, with eyes like daggers. She had a coffee cup in her hands, and so did Clint; he was just casually drinking his coffee with no care in the world. The sun was barely even up. Natasha can survive with no sleep, she barely ever even gets sleep; but she was soundly asleep, and it was disturbed, now she was planning fifty different ways to end Clint. "Remind me again why we're here." Natasha evenly, calmly asked; but she was not calm. She never looked anywhere but Clint, to let him know that she means business.

Clint just watched Natasha for a moment, then went back to drinking his coffee, he really loves coffee. "We're drinking coffee in a place of establishment." He said obviously. The way he responded to her question, it was almost as if he was testing the waters, to see how far he could go. Most people would think that testing the limits with Natasha Romanoff, would be a really bad idea; but Clint has known Natasha for so long, he knew she would never actually do anything...well, anything that could cause permanent damage.

That snarky answer really did not help Natasha's blood pressure. "Okay..." She gritted out through her teeth. "But why?" Her patience was slowly leaving her.

"I like drinking coffee." Clint simply replied.

"I know that," Natasha focused on her breathing or else she was going to lunge at Clint, and then she was probably going to regret it. It also might end up on the news, and the would not be a good thing. Steve would show his disappointed face, which was always weird. So, Natasha just stayed still, and kept her feelings inside, like always. "I also know that there's about 20 coffee stations per floor in the Tower." There was absolutely no reason to be there. "So again, I ask, why are we here?" Natasha slowly drew out, she was wide awake by now, but she surrounded by people, and Natasha, is not a people person. There was only a handful of people besides Clint and Natasha in the coffee shop. Almost all of them were on a computer, also being anti-social.

Clint pondered it for a moment, deciding what was the best answer. "I wanted to get out." He shrugged. He was one of the least talkative people Natasha knows, and one of the most; it was very confusing. Natasha made a face, like saying 'really?', she believe what Clint was saying for a second. One way or another, she was going to pry it out of him. "What?" Clint innocently asked. "The birds are chirping, the sun is shining." He pointed out, with lightness in his voice.

"We're indoors." Natasha dryly retorted.

That made Clint stop in his tracks, he reason for getting out of the Tower wasn't something he wanted to talk about, but he was planning on talking to Natasha later about what's going on with her and Bruce, but that wasn't his reason for leaving the Tower. "Fine..." He huffed out. "Wherever there's a coffee maker in the Tower, Stark's bound to be ten feet behind it; and I would like to have a cup of coffee without having to see his ugly, expensive mug." The only in the Tower that could challenge Clint for his amount of drinking coffee, is Tony. But Tony mainly just drinks it so he doesn't pass out in the lab. Clint drinks it because he loves coffee like Natasha loves Vodka. That was only half the reason for leaving, Clint just prayed Natasha wouldn't figure it out.

Natasha could actually understand that. Seeing him every time she went to get Vodka or something-which happens on a daily basis-no, thank you. That would drive her to the brink of insanity, if Natasha wasn't already there herself. "Okay, that I can understand; but why was I dragged along?" There was no reason for Natasha to be there. "You're perfectly capable of getting it by yourself." She quipped. Natasha did not want to be there, but she was wide awake at that point, no point in fighting it. But getting forcefully woken up for coffee, was not something Natasha was going to take quietly.

"I know I'm perfectly capable of getting it by myself." Clint sighed. "But I like a little company; and I drag you around everywhere, I've been doing it for years." Ain't that the truth. They've been glued to each other's side since the day they met on the rooftop. Natasha does get dragged around everywhere by Clint, but she's never stopped it. Well, at least not anymore; when she first can to SHIELD Natasha fought tooth and nail to get away. But somehow they became best friends; but being best friends with Natasha does not guarantee your safety from her wrath. Right now, Clint was at the top of the list.

But the truth is, right now, Clint didn't really feel like being alone. Not while his mind was trying to eat him alive. He doesn't need anyone to hold his hand, but Natasha was the only who could ever make sure he wasn't swallowed whole. Well, the only one now.

The thoughts and memories of their friendship raced through Natasha's mind, and it made her feel a little lighter. Then all the stupid stunts Clint had done over the past few years also went through Natasha's mind, and that made her inwardly groan. "But why did you need coffee at 4 A.M.?" He could've at least waited until 8. Natasha was a having dreamless sleep, which is the rarest thing for Natasha; but then it was interrupted. Something made Natasha stop. She watched as Clint hesitated, she watched as his entire body froze for a moment. Then it clicked why he got her up at 4 A.M. "You had a nightmare." It wasn't a question. It was a pure, and simple fact. Natasha isn't sure why she didn't see it earlier, she wanted to slap herself upside the head. Clint slowly nodded. "Honolulu?" It was the only thing Clint ever had a nightmare about, he used to have nightmares about Loki, but not anymore. Now it was just Honolulu. It had a hold on his mind and wouldn't let go.

There was a few minutes of silence, watching the thoughts and horror pass over Clint, it was almost haunting. The smell of salt water passed through his lungs, and it was sickening, it mixed with the scent of blood, and fire. Everything about that trip was something Clint wanted to forget, forever; but his mind wouldn't let him forget, ever. It would play over, and over, and over again; like a record player, it would never leave him alone. The memories burned Clint's mind, the day he lost everything. He could still hear the screaming, them crying out for him. "Yeah..." Clint slowly nodded again. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, just for something else to focus on. Something else besides the so called paradise of Hawaii. Anything else besides that.

Natasha knew exactly what Clint was thinking, what he was feeling, what he was losing. Well, maybe not exactly. But Natasha was right there besides Clint in Honolulu. It haunted Clint more of what happened, but it certainly left a mark on Natasha. All thoughts of causing Clint bodily harm, left her instantly. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault. That what happened in Honolulu wasn't because of him. The horrors of that trip did not land on his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault." Natashsa assured Clint, because it wasn't. The pieces just so happened to land in a certain order, that caused what happened, to happen. It was just a case of really bad luck, there was nothing either of them could've done differently to cause a different outcome. It just happened, in a blink of an eye, it happened so quickly. As soon as Natasha told Clint that it wasn't his fault, he immediately shook his head and bit the inside of cheek even harder; he began to actively avoid Natashsa's gaze. Natashsa noticed this, he didn't believe her. He would never believe her. Natasha wasn't really one to talk, though; but we'll cover that later. "It wasn't." She firmly told Clint to get it in his thick head.

It was nice to know that Natasha would always be there for him. She would always remind Clint that it wasn't his fault, but no matter how many times she says it, Clint will never believe it. How could he? "Could we uh-could we not?" Having to talk about what about happened in Honolulu, meant having to think about even more; it also meant having to share his feelings, and not even Thor does that. Clint just wanted to forget. He wanted to forget everything that every happened on the freakin island. Every sound, every scent, every sight, every feeling; just all of it.

"Okay." Natasha said simply, she didn't hesitate or say it with disappointment. It was a simple acknowledgment, she knew exactly how he felt, she isn't a big talker on feelings, Natasha was taught that feelings don't exist; an empty heart. If something like that happened to her, she wouldn't want to talk about it either. So, Natasha knew it was best to not press the issue, it wouldn't do anybody any good.

For a while, the two spys sat in complete silence. But it wasn't weird or anything, just peaceful. Natasha silently let the offer still stand, but she knew it would forver remain without a recipient. A lot of times Clint and Natasha don't talk much, they just...relax. They can drop all of their faces, and just sit there, for once.

Though, Natasha can never drop her mask, not completely. The most she has ever dropped her mask was in front of Clint, but even then she couldn't rid herself of it. It was the only thing keeping her safe, gaining the upper hand; without it, Natasha would be completely bare, vulnerable; Natasha does not do vulnerable. No matter how many times she tells herself that she is completely safe in front of her teammates, her mind will not listen. It killed her to put a small mask on in front of Clint since he was the one to pull her out; but a part of Natasha just couldn't do it. He didn't save her, though, she's still shrouded in darkness, that is also known as her soul. Clint just...gave her a door instead of four, padded walls. But Natasha has never opened the door; a monster doesn't deserve release.

The sun began to rise, breaking into the new day. The earth started to wake, a few more people came into the cafe who were on their way to work and needed a pick-me-up. Natasha noticed the smell of coffee was a lot stronger than before, she could hear the whistle of the espresso machine going strong. Everyone was just going about their day, without a care in the world.

She looked over to Clint who was looking out the window, watching the people pass by, life moving so quickly you'll miss it if you blink. Natasha watched as he studied every person in the room, watching the people they were meant to protect. After Honolulu, Clint thought about retiring, there was no reason to continue, but every time he watches the people of the Earth, Clint realizes exactly why he has to stay on the job. It was evident his mind never left Honolulu, it just dived in deeper. Natasha wanted to help him, but she knew she couldn't do anything. She didn't know what she could possibly say. So, Natasha just didn't say anything.

Clint found the situation too much to handle. It was like a burning sensation kept creeping up his throat, destroying everything in it's path. Just thinking about about Honolulu, physically hurt him. Clint could feel Natasha thinking about him, worrying for him; it became too much. So, Clint decided make a change of pace in the air. "So..." He broke the silence. Natasha looked at him, patiently waiting for him to finish his thought, holding in the breath of relief that he decided not to hide in his shell. "What's going on with you and Doc?"

That wasn't what she expected. At all.

Natasha huffed in annoyance, and immediately left the table and her coffee to walk out of the cafe. Why did he have to bring that up? Then again, Clint never leaves well enough alone. Natasha barely knew what was going on there herself. Bruce was avoiding her; she wasn't even trying to seek him out. It made her head spin.

Clint jugged down the rest of his coffee as fast as he could (because it was just so wrong to waste a good cup of coffee) he slammed down a 10 dollar bill on the table, and ran out to meet Natasha. He didn't think bringing it up would cause that kind of reaction. But how could Clint not bring it up? The whole thing going on between Bruce and Natasha was kind of hard to miss. As soon as Natasha entered a room, Bruce would leave. Even a few months ago, it was never that bad. Then again, Natasha wasn't living in the Tower; but still. Plus, having an ugly alter ego try to kill the other person can usually throw a wrench in the friendship.

Clint went outside and saw Natasha just standing there. He expected her to be running away, or not even see her; but she was right there, not moving, not looking at him either. She was observing everything, the people, the sky, the ground; quiet minds lead to dark places. It's what Natasha does when she's by herself, she just watches everyone, make a note of everything, her mind is always on high alert, just waiting for something to jump out. Natasha has always been like this, it's how she was trained, she does even when she's in the middle of conversation, it's just more noticeable when she's by herself.

As soon as Clint walked out and stood behind her, Natasha immediately sensed a shift in the air. She knew he was behind her, waiting for something. Waiting for what? Natasha doesn't know. She didn't really feel like speaking up first, so she waited for Clint to say something. Until then, she just abide her time by listening to the laughter of children, looking at the color of the leaves; green. Which brought her back to the mess of what brought her out of the cafe in the first place. Bruce. Whatever was going between the two of them, really scrambled Natasha's brain; which is not an easy thing to do.

After a few minutes of waiting around, Clint finally decided to speak up. Because knowing Natasha, this could go on forever. He stuffed his hands inside his pockets, rocked on the heels of his feet, and opened his mouth. "So, uh, what exactly did I say?" Clint casually asked her.

Natasha turned around and stared at him, practically fuming at the mouth, but she kept a calm exterior, buried everything down. She studied Clint for a couple of minutes, hoping to either stare him down, or find out what he's thinking. The staring down doesn't work, he just patiently waits for Natasha to answer him. Clint stares back with a far more laid back, casually expression, than Natasha's cold, hard stare. After a few minutes of deciphering, Natasha figured out that Clint's just generally curious, and concerned. "You don't seem to know how to mind your own business." Natasha bit out harder than she expected. Even though Clint only had good attentions with bringing, it didn't change the fact that Natasha did not want to talk about it.

"I never mind my own business," Clint told her in an obvious tone, and Natasha had to suppress an eye roll. "You know me." He said while shrugging his shoulders, and how true that was. Natasha knows him very well, it's a little terrifying to be honest.

"Oh, and what a joy it is..." She muttered under her breath. She's known Clint for a little over ten years, and each one gets weirder and weirder. Natasha understands his personality a little bit more everyday, and that isn't always a good thing. But, if Natasha was being honest-she wishes that would happen a lot more often-she wouldn't change meeting Clint for the world; they're best friends for a reason.

Clint just glared at Natasha when she said that, but he knew she was just being sarcastic. He didn't really feel like getting into a fight so early in the morning, but he was still very curious; and that's not always a good thing when it comes to Clint. "Can I bring up the 'Bruce thing', again? Or are you just going to walk away further?" He sarcastically quipped. Whatever's going on between them has been going on for days. It's like with each passing day, the tension or fear between them is getting worse; and pretty soon, something is going to cause them to explode.

Natasha sighed, she tried thinking of ways to get out of this conversation, praying that another wormhole will open up in the sky as a distraction from this. But no wormhole was coming, she was going to have to deal with this by herself. The thought of having to open up about what was going on between her and Bruce, and her fear; made Natasha's blood boil. She absolutely hated that she was afraid of him-or the Hulk at least-she really thought her fear disappeared when she saw Bruce on the rooftop. A part of Natasha' fear did, she realized that Bruce wasn't dangerous, but she was still afraid because the Hulk is always right underneath the surface, and he could come out at any point. "I-I don't know." Natasha honestly told Clint. "When I come up with an answer, you'll be the first to know." She said in a sarcastic manner. She could open up any further, her walls went right back up. Without even realizing, Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, as if she was strengthening the barrier.

"Nat..." Clint sighed, he wasn't really sure what to say at this point. At this point, he could clearly tell that this was really affecting Natasha, he had no idea what to do. The only he could do was show her that he meant no harm, to stop her from getting the defensive. "I just-" But before Clint could get any further, he was cut off.

"Give me your wallets!" Natasha and Clint turned their heads and saw that a guy-that did not know the meaning of shower-was pointing a gun at them. For starters, this man was clearly an idiot for attempting to rob 'The Black Widow' and 'Hawkeye'. He was an older fellow, maybe 60, super scrawny-like he hasn't eaten in days-he had a white beard and his hair was hidden by a gray beanie. Most of his clothes were too big for him, probably found them in a dumpster, or he stole them. A lot of people would assume this man was homeless, but it was evident if you looked close enough, that he was a drug addict. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were bugged. Clint and Natasha simply just turned back to each other and pretended they didn't even see him, continuing their conversation that was interrupted.

"Look, Nat, I'm just worried about-" But Clint was cut off again.

"Now!" The gunman yelled shakily, the ignoring of him was clearly ticking him off, Natasha and Clint heard a 'click', indicating that he turned off the safety.

Natasha breathed out a frustrated sigh, this guy was a complete moron. She was already busy enough with talking to Clint about this 'thing', now to have an idiot with a gun thrown in? Just great. She didn't get a wormhole, but she did get a crazed gunman that was doped up. Now, Natasha was thinking why a distraction was such a good idea; because it wasn't. "Sir, if you wait right there, we'll be with you in a moment." Natasha told him as calmly as she could. All she wanted to do was punch this guy's lights out and walk away, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. She huffed out another sigh, trying to think of a way to respond to Clint, to tell him just to back off.

But before Natasha could say anything to Clint, the guy opened his mouth again. "What's wrong with you people?!" That's a good question. "I got a gun pointed at you!" They just stared at him, silently asking if that was suppose to mean anything. "Give me your freaking wallets!" They were pushing all the right buttons.

"How rude can one guy get?" Clint muttered to Natasha, who was very annoyed by the situation, as well. "Dude, we're in the middle of the conversation, wait your turn." Clint said to the guy, while raising his hands from his sides in a way that said 'really?'

This guy was definitely tired of this as much as Clint and Natasha were tired of him. His forefinger grasped the trigger, he pulled back on the cool, dark metal, he tightly shut his eyes as soon as he did, like a coward. A loud 'bang' rang out and everyone started screaming, running around, chaos ensued. They flied as quickly as they could with fear of their life, their hands clasped tightly around their children's wrists, leaving any personal effects behind. Birds started flying away from the trees in terror, the only footprints were loose leaves falling from the trees as they fled.

But those were the only sounds; something was wrong.

The gunman didn't hear anyone scream out, or the sound of someone collapsing to the floor, nothing but a small 'ping'. He slowly opened his eyes in confusion and saw Natasha with her hand in a fist, blocking her face in a defensive stance. What really confused him was the black cuff around her wrist, and the bullet on the concrete. She dropped her wrist and revealed her expression of a raised eyebrow, and for a second the guy swore he was staring at the face of death.

"Really?" Clint groaned. "You brought your tasers?" His voice was muffled while he was dragging his hands down his face in annoyance.

Natasha was sure why he was so surprised. "I always bring them." She said in almost a mock tone. 'You know me' hung quietly in the air, it took all of Clint's energy to suppress the eye roll that was inching it's way to the surface. "And for good reason, apparently." Natasha outstretched her arm, pointing her 'bites' at the man, and bright blue electricity light up the cuff, surging energy just waiting to be released. All of the color drained from his face immediately, but that wasn't the only thing he was being drained of. A small trickle ran down his leg, soaking his pants in the process, it felt wet and smelled really bad.

"Dude, really?" Clint asked with a groan.

Natasha ignored it, her hand was stilled raised at him, just waiting to see if he would try anything else. The gunman's arm went limp out of fear, dropping the gun from his grasp. It was a surrender that didn't do him much good. It clattered on the ground, but since the safety wasn't on, a bullet left the chamber with a 'bang'. It missed Natasha by a hair, the victim instead was glass from the front of the cafe, it shattered and all the pieces were strewn on the concrete and inside of the cafe; and in that split second, Natasha fired her taser on instinct, the guy dropped like a sack of potatoes next to the gun, groaning weakly. From the shot going off, to him on the floor-happened so quickly, you'd miss it if you blinked.

She walked up to the unconscious man on the ground, tapping him lightly with her boot to make sure he was out. Natasha was satisfied when he made no movement. "Who knew we were going to run into someone who was trying to fill his pockets to get to the top of the mountain?" She asked no one in particular, still staring at the man laying on the ground.

Clint walked up to her, and squatted down on the balls of his feet to get a closer look. He grabbed the gun with one hand, and upon closer inspection, he realized it was a JA-22 pistol. "Pointed a gun at us. Sounds like he was still pretty close to the top." Clint twirled the gun in his hand with his finger before gaining a tight grip on it. It's true. Their faces are plastered everywhere, it would be pretty hard to mistake who they are; unless you can't even tell the difference between yellow and because you're so high.

Bruce and Honolulu were left in a corner of their minds, at this point. Which silently, I think they were both grateful for. Sometimes a distraction, can be good. A moment to forget, a moment of release from the pain. They didn't forget, though, it didn't leave their minds completely; it just went away for a little while. And it will come back all too soon, with the force a silent tsunami. But for now, they can just relish in friendship, and be somewhat happy. Clint probably better has a grasp on the term 'happy' then Natasha ever will. No, scratch that, he definitely has a better grasp on it. Natasha just puts on another face.

 _Happy. How childish..._

"Come on," Natasha said while reaching down to swipe the gun from him. "We should get him down to a precinct." She got in before Clint could protest. Then it made sense why Natasha grabbed the gun. Because Clint would have to carry the guy since he was passed out, he couldn't carry the gun, too; he would have to put it under his shirt, and then the police would think it was his, when Clint's gun is actually in his ankle holster.

When Natasha said 'precinct', Clint had to stifle a laugh. It sounded so weird for Natasha to say that. Spies and assassins don't do precincts. "Precinct?" His voice was light from laughter.

"What? You wanna take a drug addict to the Fridge?" Natasha asked with a hint of annoyance.

Clint pondered it for a moment, his face was a blank slate, thinking a comeback. "Yeah, okay." He muttered in defeat once he couldn't think of one.

Clint reached over to grabbed one of the man's limp arms to hoist his upper body over his shoulder. He stood up slowly once he had a good grip on the man, with the knowledge they won't topple over like a sack of bricks. He his arm wrapped tightly around the guy's waist, he was surprisingly light, probably had to do with all of the drugs. Clint felt something wet soak into his leather jacket, and for a second he wanted drop the guy who soaking in urine; but then he realized that wouldn't be the best idea he ever had. "I don't get paid enough for this..." Clint muttered in a tired voice, thinking about how the closet precinct was about a four mile walk, and that whole time he would be getting pee all over his clothes. Lovely.

"You don't get paid at all." Natasha reminded the poor man, while walking away from the front of the cafe, down the path to the side walk.

He was about say differently, but then remembered that after SHIELD collapsed, and he moved into the Tower, he didn't get paid anymore; but there wasn't really a reason to be paid when you're living in a modern, New York skyscraper for free. "Oh, yeah." Clint said in a light voice again from amusement, and continued on the very painful trek to the precinct, following after Natasha, who had a head start.

* * *

It was around 8:30 PM in the communal kitchen/dinning room. The moon was up, and cities lights danced across sky. The night sky was a beautiful royal blue, swirling throughout the winds, a never ending dream. Every light, from every window, in every building, was shown all the way to the heavens. The moon was at the center of it all, bursting with life, lighting the darkness to find your way home. A beacon of hope, in what seems so torturous.

Thor used his cooking skills to make a beautiful, and delicious, mouthwatering meal. It was grilled steak, cooked to perfection, topped with a creamy, silky, alfredo sauce, and finally paired with cooked asparagus, almost burnt-but not, just the right amount. The steak was medium rare, just a little bit pink, and the juices were sizzling down the side, the smell was enough to make you beg. It was amazing, just like usual; being with Jane for a few years caused Thor's cooking skills to skyrocket. He learned by watching a bunch of videos of Martha Stewart and Julia Child, it's not like he had a choice, Jane's cabinets were barely stocked with foods that were two weeks old.

They don't always sit together for meals, most of the time they each go to their own kitchens, in their own apartments in the Tower. But on the rare occasion they do eat together, it's a rule that Thor makes the meals since he's the only one that can. Tony was usually the first one to leave, the man never cleans up after himself, when he finished his meal he would maybe sit around for another ten minutes, and he would race down to the lab. Tony spends about 60% of his time in the lab, 30% is with Pepper-the only person who seems to keep his head on straight-and the last 10% is for missions. Clint would usually leave next, he might help a little with the cleaning, but that's not really style-but this time he wasn't there, at all. As soon as he and Natasha got back from dropping off the guy at the police station, Clint made a b-line for the shower, and hasn't left since. He's also planning on burning all of his clothes that he wore. Thor would always help with the cleaning, he even enjoyed it-almost anything can please that man-but not this time; he had a date with Jane, and no way was he missing that. Thor just made the dinner for the rest and took off as quick as lightening (pun intended).

That just left Natasha, Bruce and Steve to clean everything up...it was awkward. Especially for Steve, having to watch the interactions between Bruce and Natasha, or should I say, lack of interactions. He felt like a third wheel, or just an awkward outsider watching through a screen. Anytime Natasha is anywhere near Bruce, he immediately moves to another area of the kitchen. It was awful, you cut the tension with a knife.

Bruce wondered why he didn't just leave the kitchen, it would make everything easier, and so much less uncomfortable. But as cheesy as it sounds, he couldn't leave the truckload of heavy dishes to just two people, this nagging part in his chest would let him do it. So Bruce was forced to be there, hating every moment, counting the seconds until it was over. The part that really bothered him, though, was that Natasha didn't seem as afraid, he couldn't sense that bone shaking fear like he did before. There was fear there, it just wasn't as intense. Bruce was always so confused when it came to Natasha's fear of him, or the other guy-maybe both; should he glad that she isn't as afraid? Or should this anger him because she's being oblivious and careless?

Natasha could sense how uncomfortable Bruce was through his body language and everything. She wasn't a fan of this situation, either, she also knew that Bruce was far more uncomfortable than she was. Natasha wasn't even sure if he was still breathing by how pale he looked. Being near someone that did obviously not want to be near her, was awkward enough, but this person also just so happened to have the Hulk under his skin, which just made everything worse. Ever since seeing Bruce on the rooftop, staring into the sunset, Natasha knew he wasn't dangerous, but he's still the vessel of the Hulk; she wished that didn't scare her like a child, but it did. Natasha felt like a coward, but there was a part of her that never wanted to feel so helpless again, like she was on helicarrier.

While putting the bottle of wine that was never opened, back in the wine cooler, Natasha slowly turned back around just enough to look over her shoulder; she caught a glimpse of Bruce looking at her, it was just for a second, and then he went back to washing the dishes. The way he was looking at her, though, with such curiosity and intent, like he was studying her. It was like Bruce was just waiting for Natasha to do something; but what? Scream and run in terror? Yeah, that's probably it. But no way was Natasha ever going to cower like a child in the dark. Not again; not ever.

As soon as he saw Natasha that caught him looking at her, Bruce whipped his back to the sink so quickly, he thought he got whiplash. It's true, Bruce was studying her, wondering why she just doesn't run, wondering why is bothers him so much. This whole has his head spinning left and right; ever since Natasha came to the Tower-which has only been for a week or so-made his always constant headache grow, if that was even possible. From her not being afraid at all, to her shaking her very core, and barely even sweating, but still noticeable to Bruce. He's glad that she's afraid, and he hates that she's afraid; at this point, he has no idea what to think. Bruce still wondered why Natasha didn't run, but then it hit him, she's the Black Widow, she would rather die, than run.

Natasha could sense that Bruce wouldn't leave, even though, he wanted to so badly. Sometimes, Bruce was too kind for his own good; a sheer amount of kindness, is compelling him to stay in a situation that is practically leaving him breathless. Even though the exit is only a few away, and his hands are nearly shaking, Natasha knew is wasn't going to budge an inch; he's stubborn, that's a trait common amongst the Avengers.

So, she left for him.

After closing the door to the wine cooler, Natasha walked back into the open of the kitchen where Steve was putting leftovers in the fridge and Bruce was still washing dishes at the sink. There was a lot of dishes, Steve and Bruce can wolf down a mountain of food like no one's business, guess having your whole DNA reshaped can do that to you.

A part of Natasha wanted to stay back and help, and not give into the part that said she was just doing this for Bruce and not for herself, to not give into the small part of fear, she didn't want to deal her cards first and show her hand. Natasha wanted to give into the stubborn aspect of the situation, wait him out, watch Bruce sweat until he can't handle it anymore, she wanted to give into the worst parts of herself; like always. But Natasha wouldn't let herself do that, she's already done that before.

"Alright boys," Natasha started, while walking over to the staircase, Steve closed the door to the fridge and Bruce looked up nervously at her. "I'm turning in." She gave in, coming up with an excuse to leave, Natasha could've very well slipped out, unnoticed; but for some reason, she decided against it, and went out the harder way. She turns her attention to Steve and curls lips into a devious smile. "Rogers, make sure you set your Westclox for 7:30 sharp, tomorrow night." She said in a tone that matched her grin. Doing this thing with Steve; made Natasha forget...to just joke or whatever...can make her forget about...herself. It's a nice break, but that's all it is; a break, nothing more, nothing less; but it's something in a void of nothing.

Steve bit back a groan. He knows that he flat out asked for a friendship with Natasha, but sometimes she really wore him out. This was a perfect example. "How could I forget?" He sarcastically questioned, while leaning against the closed doors of the fridge and crossing his arms. "You've been reminding me for the past five days." Steve muttered with a sigh of annoyance; not true annoyance, though, more like...friendly banter. They do that a lot.

"Got to keep you on your toes, soldier." Natasha quipped back.

He didn't hold back his groan that time. "You've been doing a mighty fine job of that." Steve dryly noted. He was just glad because the weight bearing tension was gone. He knew the comfortable front Natasha was putting on, was beyond fake. Her stance, her voice, her flirtation, her smirk; just one big mask. Sometimes it's hard for Steve to tell the difference between when Natasha was wearing a mask, and when she wasn't; because her mask rarely-if ever-comes off. So, her mask...becomes her only face.

"Glad to know I got a good review." Natasha said it in a way that sounded like she was talking about something completely different. It's a good thing there aren't any kids around. Steve proceeded to dip his head down and hold his forehead with the palm of his hand. Bruce just kind of quirked his eyebrow at that, but decided not to say anything. Natasha felt like she got enough 'talk' in before she could leave, like she was filling some sort of quota, which sounds terrible but Natasha was always filling some sort of quota, they were just usually more bloody. Wearing a mask of pretending everything was fine, took a lot more energy than you would assume, and she was running on empty; being alone can usually fill Natasha back up, get her orders straight, then it's back to wearing the mask. "Later," Natasha said as a parting and Steve gave a slight wave of his hand as gesture in return, but Bruce didn't really do anything. That didn't really surprise her, though, she barely acknowledge him all evening. To each other, they were pretending they were wisps in the air, with the force of an elephant.

As soon as Natasha said 'later', she was gone.

Bruce went back to washing the remnants of food away from a plate, he felt like he could breath a little easier, like a huge weight was lifted of his chest, but not really. There was always a sinking feeling inside of him-and not just because of the other guy-this whole thing of living with someone who was almost killed by the other guy, was not something Bruce ever expected; then again, he never expected to be sharing his mind with a science experiment-but here we are.

But then something piqued Bruce's curiosity, and he couldn't get rid of it. As he went over what just happened, he realized something. _What the heck were they just talking about?_

Apparently Steve noticed Bruce's confusion through his expression, and the way he was absentmindedly washing the plate while staring off into space, it was almost laughable, but he also knew that something else was on Bruce's mind, and that wasn't laughable. "It's a date." Steve started, pulling Bruce out of the haze. Then it all made sense, Bruce overhears the two of them talking about setting Steve on dates all the time, Steve usually tries to get out of them but fails miserably. "Andrea, I think is her name." Steve said while making a grab for one of the dried dishes to put away in a cupboard above his head. "Nice, blond, little terrifying." He told Bruce in a completely casually tone, with the undertones of 'help me!'

Bruce made some sort of acknowledgment to Steve, but even though Bruce heard every word, and paid attention to everything he was saying; he was off in his own little world. His mind was filling with morbid, dark thoughts, a constant there, like usual as of late, Bruce's thoughts went to Natasha, thinking over every situation that went over in his head, as to how this 'thing of fear' with her is so freaking confusing; he was thinking about in some weird way, Bruce became afraid of Natasha. He's afraid that she's isn't afraid, he's afraid that she is, he's afraid that there will never be a cure; Bruce is just...afraid. It's always been like that, he has his Father to thank for that one.

Bruce was absentmindedly scrubbing the grime off of a cooking pan, barely even noticing the water going over his hands, or the sponge in his grasp. His only focus was nothing, and everything; all the things of that kept him calm, and all the things that destroyed him. It burned what was going on in Bruce's mind, it killed anything living, and suffocated anything with color. All black and white, all dead. Bruce fears Natasha. Does she fear him, does she fear the other guy; both? Is there any hope for a cure, or is it all dried up?

Steve must've noticed it again, and knew exactly what Bruce was thinking about, what was haunting him, consuming him. "You got to let her come to you." Steve told him, while grabbing a rag to dry off the dishes that were laid on top of a towel on the counter.

It didn't really snap Bruce out of his fog, but he was still listening. "Huh?" Still washing the same cooking pan.

"Romanoff," Steve started. Bruce darted his head to him instantly, that did the trick, now Bruce was completely listening, little terrified, but listening. "You got to let her come to you." He simply stated, not even looking at Bruce. He was trying to make this conversation as casual and uncomfortable as possible, because he knew that this talk was going to have Bruce sweating bullets-like birds and the bees-but it was one that he desperately needed.

Boy, was Steve right, Bruce did not want to be there for this. He was about to question how did Steve even know about what was going on between them, but Bruce realized how obvious it was, so that wasn't going to do any good. But Bruce himself didn't really expect what was going on, how he was living with someone the other guy almost ran over; about who was afraid, and who wasn't. It was all these details that hogged Bruce's mind, and he wasn't ready to share that with anyone else. So, Bruce tried to play it off, poorly, though. "I, uh, I don't what you're-"

"Banner," Bruce could tell by Steve's tone he wasn't messing around, it struck something inside of him, Bruce slowed his circular movement of the sponge to a stop and turned his head to Steve who was also looking at him. He was looking at Bruce with such intent, such determination; Bruce had to will himself not to fidget under his stare. "You can't hide from this forever." Why is it that Steve always sounds like someone who is giving an epic speech that's going to rally everyone together to fight off the aliens with ships the size of a city? Why did he have to be so freaking right?

Bruce knew that nobody could hide from anything, forever. He knew more than anyone, he tried to hide from himself, and failed miserably. He tried to hide from his past, and it came up to smack him in the face. You can't hide from anything. But that did not mean that Bruce was not going to try. He found that Bruce's gaze was too uncomfortable, so his focus went back to washing the dishes; and Steve also looked back to the plate in his hand and began to dry it. "Been doing a pretty good job, so far." He offered a lie, hoping that would be enough, that he could leave this conversation. Because knew that he was doing a terrible job, beyond horrible at it. The master of hiding couldn't-surprise, surprise-hide from a master assassin. No matter how hard Bruce tried to ignore it, it didn't disappear, it just grew, and grew until it was the only thing he could see.

Steve knew it, too. "No you haven't." He simply stated, he was never one for dancing around the elephant, he preferred going in head first. Bruce spends half his time actively avoiding Natasha, Steve thought she was going to handle that on her own, but it's been a week, and things went from bad to worse; it felt like they were even more distant from each other than when she wasn't even living here. "You gotta trust your teammates on _and_ off the battlefield." It's all about trust, trust keeps you alive out there, without it; you're dead. Steve trusted Bruce right off the bat, there was a war going on, far more important things to worry about. "I know that it's been harder for you guys since...since-uh..." Steve wasn't really sure how to put the rest of that sentence into words.

So, Bruce did it for him. "Since my green, alter ego almost trampled her in a confined space? Since then?" He offered dryly.

Steve just blinked at him for a couple of seconds, Bruce wasn't even sure he was breathing. "I was going to put a more delicate touch to it, but...yeah..." He slowly drew out, he almost forgot about Bruce's self deprecating humor.

Bruce didn't even remember almost killing her at first. It took a few hours for the memories to come back. Most of the time, he doesn't ever remember what the Hulk did, and if memories did come back, it was through vivid nightmares that haunted him. But for some reason, after about two hours of being back to his normal self, the memories of running Natasha down in the helicarrier, hit him like a train. "Yeah, but that was two years ago. Trust hasn't really been an issue for us." It hasn't ever been an issue for them , because they were never really around each other, and when they were, they managed to be professional, now that's not even working.

Steve could see what Bruce meant by that, but he also knows that information is entirely useless. "For the last two years, Nat only punched in required time for this team." After every mission, Natasha stayed around for maybe a day, then she went back to whatever hiding hole she had in New York; and when SHIELD fell, she was around even less, only around for missions, never to hang out. But then a week or so ago, Natasha moved in, however that happened. Steve was just glad she did, after SHIELD fell, she was really lost; she actually opened up to him, which is beyond rare. He knew Natasha wasn't okay, Steve was always worried about her when she took off in a quinjet, afraid she would do something stupid. "Now she's actually living here, so it's _going_ to become a problem." He stated.

For a moment, Bruce wanted to say differently, to deny that's what was going to happen, but it's true. If they keep tiptoeing around each other it's going to blow up in their faces. "Hasn't been one yet." That answer wasn't much better, but it was the only one he could think of.

"But it has." Steve pointed out. Bruce was about to say something else to that, but Steve cut him off at the pass. "Look, Natasha's the only person I know that can match Stark in stubbornness." He figured saying that would be good, since Bruce knows better than anyone how stubborn Tony can be; and Steve knows how stubborn Natasha can be, the only one who might know more than him is Clint. "She's not going to let a little fear control her." He's seen Natasha go against twelve men with guns while she has nothing but her bare hands; no one controls Natasha, but Natasha.

"There's a chance you might be wrong, and I highly doubt that it's little." Even Bruce knew that was a long shot. At least the first part, but Bruce is sure-or hopeful, or fearful-about how much she is afraid.

Bruce said it in a way that Steve could sense all the undertones of guilt, self hate, morbidity, and green. He knew that Bruce blamed himself for all of it, he blamed himself for Natasha's fear of the other guy, he blamed himself for the other guy almost killing her. Steve wanted to shake him, and tell him that's not true; but he knew that wouldn't do any good. "I'm not, though." He corrected. "You just haven't given her a chance to prove it. You're the one that keeps backing away." He's seen it every time they're in the same room, if Bruce is within twenty feet of Natasha he'll move away as fast as he can. So, if there is any chance of them actually building a trust, Bruce is making it impossible because they're never around each other. Steve hasn't seen Natasha go after, but that's probably because she doesn't want to spook him, and she's still getting her fear under control. After saying that, Bruce dawned an even more guilty look, and it made Steve feel horrible, but he needed to hear this. "Just let her come to you. Give her a chance to control her fear." He told him, because that's the only way it was going to work.

Bruce was going to say 'no' say that it wasn't going to work. He thought about just running away, it would be so simple, the exit was only a few feet in front of him. He could just walk out, and be done with this conversation, wouldn't have to think about it anymore, but Bruce would think about it, he's always been thinking about it, it's tearing him in two, and he's letting it. Bruce thought about denying it, listing all the reasons of how wrong Steve is; of how once someone is afraid of the Hulk, they are always afraid of the Hulk, it's just logical.

But the weird part was, that because it was Steve Rogers who was telling him all of this, almost made Bruce believe. Steve can make anyone believe anything, with that 'leader voice' thing he has going on. But it still wasn't enough for Bruce to change his views, just enough to make him think differently, for a second, like a dream; a wisp of a memory, and nothing more. It was enough, though, to make Bruce laugh; it was morbid laugh, apparently that's the only Bruce knows how to make. "You know, they don't call you Captain America without reason." Bruce thought of saying something else that actually had to do with the whole 'fear thing', but he recognized this as his only out, and he took it; Bruce didn't want this conversation to last any longer than it already has.

Steve just let out a small laugh in return.

* * *

The aggression, the fear, it was all so much. Natasha hated that a part of her was still fearful of the Hulk, she wasn't suppose to be afraid of anything. She looks at Bruce, and she tries to just see Bruce, but a part her can still sense the other guy, and how he can just bust out at any moment; that's what terrifies Natasha.

Nothing scared Natasha, nothing could control her, but this fear was; and Natasha hated it. She wished she wasn't afraid, she wished she could be in the same room as Bruce and not have sweat running down her neck. She wished that every time she was in a room where Bruce was, he wouldn't run away, like some sort of...well, like Bruce. But, since Natasha was wishing for things; she wished she never got him mad to let out the Hulk in the first place. But, the Hulk was let out, and he did try to kill her; Natasha was afraid of Bruce; and for some reason, he was afraid of her. She wasn't sure why someone with the Hulk inside of them could be afraid of her; but he was.

Natasha thought she finally had a handle on the fear since she watched Bruce on the roof that one evening, but no. The fear didn't go away, it just made itself smaller, harder to notice, organized itself; but it was still there, just hiding in the shadows. Natasha wanted to punch the fear out of her, but that's not how thing work. It felt ridiculous to be afraid, she felt like some sort of child, but Natasha was never a child; yet here she was, having some sort of petty fear, it was stupid. But Natasha couldn't shake herself out of it.

Since Natasha couldn't punch her way out of the fear, she at least thought she could use that pent up aggression on something else. So, after the awkward cleaning scene at dinner, she went down to the gym, and she's been down there for the two hours; just hoping some of this anger will leave her. Natasha spent the last hour and a half just punching her way out on a punching bag. With every kick, and every punch, the anger did not go away. At one point, she kicked the bag so hard, sand started to spill out, but that wasn't the first time that had happened, and Natasha was too wrapped up inside her head to care. Punching did not work, so she went in for something stronger, something that was bound to work; in for the kill. She could deny it, say something like that doesn't work, because it was so disturbing, and wrong; but it did work. Shooting targets helped Natasha calm down, something about striking perfectly in the middle of the head, could release the tension in her shoulders, and undo the knots. She hated that this helped calm her down, she wished that normal things like yoga, or weed could bring her back down; but killing targets helped Natasha immensely.

So, that's what she's been doing doing for the last half hour; gripping the cool metal of the gun, pointing at the piece of black, heavy duty cardboard, which had white lines on it to outline the fake person, pulling on the trigger, hear the sound ricochet throughout the advance gym, and watch as the bullet flew through the air and made a small hole in the target from wherever she aimed it to hit. But using just one gun, wouldn't be enough for Natasha, so she used two; one in each hand, switching off with every fire. Natasha has perfected this technique, she's been doing it this way since she was a kid. The only difference was when she was a kid, she used live targets, like a slaughterhouse. Fire in right; switch to the left; fire in left, switch to the right. Repeat. It wasn't deadly since Natasha was the only person in the room.

At least, that's was she thought; until she smelled it. Natasha smelled the scent of motor oil, chemical products, and really expensive cologne. That could be only one person. _Tony._

Natasha couldn't really deal with him right now, or anyone for that matter. She just wanted to be left alone, and blow off steam by shooting off targets. So, she just completely ignored him, and just kept pulling the trigger.

Right hand 'bang'.

Switch.

Left hand 'bang'.

Switch.

Right hand 'bang'.

Switch.

Etc.

But Natasha should've known that Tony wouldn't take the hint, because he just stood there watching her, not saying anything. But she just kept ignoring him, praying that'll go away, leave her in peace; but Tony thought of no such thing. "I'm not really going to announce myself since you already know I'm here." He said simply. Natasha gave nothing to say that she knew that Tony was there, but of course, he knew that she knew' it was just something to be taken for granted. For a second, Natasha thought about turning around and shooting him, just a simple twist and pull.

Even though it would feel amazing, the repercussions would be catastrophic, so in reality, it actually wasn't worth it, even Natasha really wanted to. And whatever would come out of Natasha's mouth if she started to talk to anyone right now-especially Tony-would be far from kind, any many words that could start a war. So, she just played it safe, and stayed quiet. "Silent treatment, huh?" He questioned, moving behind Natasha to the other side of her, becoming a little more in her view. "I'm pretty sure women have that ingrained in their DNA." That was definitely the wrong thing for Natasha to hear right now, and it certainly did not help her blood pressure. _Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Don't shoot._

Natasha knew that Tony wasn't going to go away anytime soon. So, bitterly, she decided to open her mouth. "Don't you have somewhere better to be?" She bit out while not looking at him. She aimed her right hand at the target to shoot, but then she heard the click back, signifying the chamber was empty; Natasha was so lost in thought and in anger, she forgot to count. She mentally cursed herself for not keeping track, but she'd rather just curse the billionaire.

She turned to this little console-thing on her left, and touched the little touchscreen for it to eject another chamber for her to empty, it popped out by this small, metal flap; it was like some sort of sideways, vending machine for ammo. "Tons of places," Tony casually replied, which only irked Natasha more. She put the mag into place with a little more force than necessary, and then did the same with her left gun which was also empty. "But I'm fine right here." Tony added, which meant that there was an actual meaning from him to be there but he wasn't going to give it up yet.

"I'm honored." Natasha dryly retorted, then she pulled the trigger in her right. _One._ She switched to her left. _One._

"You should be," He then huffed in annoyance. "I could've stayed in the lab, or had some _alone time_ with Pepper, if you catch my drift." Tony said 'alone time' in a very dirty tone, that nearly made Natasha point the gun at him. _Two, right. Two, left._

She definitely knew what he was talking about, and she had to suppress the bile that inched it's way up her her throat. "Drift's been caught," Natasha said in a very tired tone, this day has really worn her out-no, wait-this week has. _"Trust me."_ She needed no more details on the matter than what's already been distributed. _Three, right. Three, left._

Tony just kept on talking, barely even noticing that Natasha said something. "But I chose to come here." He said it in a very high and mighty tone. Tony really should realize that he probably shouldn't talk like that to Natasha when she has a gun in her hand, or ever, for that matter. But Tony really did have a reason for coming here, this wasn't just a run of the mill, casual visit, there was business to be done. This talk is one that has been put off for far too long, but not anymore. But Tony couldn't just blurt it out, for fear of getting a bullet in the brain, but this couldn't go unnoticed, it had to be discussed and it needed to be dealt with. He just had to take the scenic route.

The sound of the bullets kept ricocheting throughout the walls of the training area, and it was the only sound made within the walls. For a while, neither of the two talked, it was beyond disturbingly silent, even though the 'bang' of bullets nearly pierced Tony's eardrums. The air was so tense it nearly pushed him into the ground and then fifty feet under. It was a terrifying thought, but Tony could tell that Natasha was imaging that the target was him, and she was enjoying every second of it. He swallowed the lump in his throat because he realized that if someone didn't say something soon, nothing was going to be done. "So..." Tony started slowly with a long draw of his breath. "How's Anastasia?"

That was the wrong thing to say.

Every bullet that Natasha shot out of the chamber made the kill shot, straight for the head, but this bullet went a little bit lower than the head. Correction-a lot lower. Tony involuntarily flinched, and covered himself up, he could feel the sweat began to form and really wished he knew when to actually shut up. He also swallowed a very girlish squeak that wanted to leave his throat. A filter could've saved him a lot of time from being blown up and shot at.

With that statement, all of Natasha's patience was dried up and she did not care. Tony was here for something and was not leaving until her got it, he's stubborn like that. At that point, Natasha did not care what it was, she would gladly give it to him on a silver platter, she just wanted him to leave, and then she could meddle with her dark thoughts in peace. After that shot, she briskly put both of her guns down at her side and quickly turned to Tony. Natasha's eyes were extracted from the devil and Tony was seriously hoping someone knew where his will was. "If you wanna talk; talk. It's a free country." Natasha knew she was making an open invitation to talking with Tony Stark, but if she doesn't do this, Tony might never go away; and that's a nightmare all in itself. "Don't waste my time with talk about the weather, something's on your mind." She said in a very threatening tone. "And if you ever make a comment like that again," Natasha took the faintest of steps forward, but it was enough to know that she meant business. "I might be a little flaky with my aim." Each and every word of her threat, were entirely 100% true.

Tony really should've known that beating around the bush was not Natasha's style, and now, he might pay dearly for it. He swallowed and his Adam's Apple made a very noticeable dip. "I will agree to your terms," He said nervously and slowly, and made a quite note to find his will when this is over to make sure it's still where he left it. "If you put down the guns first." Tony gestured to the dangerous ammo that was still in Natasha's grasp. It was safer to say what he was going to say next when there was still a distance between them-so there was no chance of flying legs-and no long distance weapons. But since this was Natasha, she could probably kill Tony by sheer will alone.

Natasha's stare only grew harder, she was reading Tony's expression to see if he was being serious. The man wasn't as petrified as before, but he was still wary, but that was it, well, and a slight fidget of nervousness. She might as well hear what he has to say, what does she gotta lose anyway?...Perfect last words. Natasha eventually softened her stare, and loosened the muscles of her shoulders, with a soft sigh she turned around and placed her guns on the metal rack that was already stacked to the brim guns. Natasha turned back to face Tony and with a breath through her nose, she made a motion of her hand to silently say 'continue'.

At first, Tony was still a little hesitant to say anything, he really didn't feel like dying just yet; but he then realized that if he says nothing-Natasha will get mad; if he just ups and leave-she'll probably still get mad at him for chickening out; if Tony says what he came there to say-Natasha will rip his head off. So, any option that Tony chooses to use, will end in blood, so he might as well actually do something productive. He opted for the third door. The problem was now, how was he going to form what he needed to say into words? Because right now, Tony's mind was running a complete, and total blank.

He needed to say something, and something soon because Natasha was starting to get really impatient. She folded her arms of her chest and started to tap her fingers on her arm. The tapping was the only sound filling the silence and it only made the sweat pouring off of Tony even worse. His mind was still empty, and something had to be said, Tony was getting so annoyed to the point where he thought about banging his head against the wall to get a jump start. Natasha raised a single eyebrow, like she was testing him, seeing if he really wanted to play this game. Tony couldn't take it anymore. Screw it. It's all coming out at once. "You gotta talk to Bruce." He said in one quick breath.

 _Cat's out of the bag._

Natasha made no movement. Her fingers stopped tapping; but her arms were still crossed, and her eyebrow was still raised. She was just like a freaking statue. Tony wasn't even sure she was still breathing. Did her soul vacate her body? Is she brain dead? Maybe she's plotting all the ways she can Tony without touching him? It's all highly possible. Tony opened with the biggest present, so it can only go down from here, there's no stopping now. It might have been a smart idea to stop there, and leave while he still had a chance, but most people have wonderful idea of using their brains and listen to the big, flashing red lights. Tony wasn't even sure if Natasha heard him the first time. But then he realized that's stupid-she's just processing-and just kept talking. "You've been prancing around each other for two years, and somehow-magically-it's gotten worse." Everyone's seen how they act around each other-or better yet-how they don't act. The two of them avoid each other at all costs, but if they did run into each other, they would be entirely professional-awkward tension-but professional, nonetheless. Now if they run into each other, Bruce darts like he's seen Natasha naked.

Natasha still didn't move. Completely still. An atomic bomb could land on the Tower and explode-yet somehow, she would still be standing there. Tony wasn't even sure if he was making matters worse, or better. I guess it didn't matter, though, he's already gotten this far, might as well keep going. "Bruce already made the first move, and then it completely backfired." Tony remembered sending Bruce up to the roof to talk to Natasha, and he didn't think it would go perfectly, but it might clear some of the air. But for some reason, the air was replaced by tar, that makes it impossible to get through. "So, now it's your turn to swing the bat, and hopefully you don't miss." And also because Bruce will probably not do it again, but Tony decided to leave that part out.

Nothing. That didn't get anything out of Natasha. She made no signs of moving from her post. Most terrifying part was that her eye's stayed completely focused on Tony and not anything else. She was practically following him without even doing anything. Tony felt the chill go down his spine from Natasha's watchful, silent stare. "Forget scarecrows, birds will crap themselves after seeing you from hundred yards away." The man really is an idiot. Tony really thought that would have gotten something out of Natasha, like her grabbing a knife and aiming it for his head. But nothing. He could be talking to a statue of marble for all he knows that's been painted really well, there would be absolutely no difference. "Nothing, really?" He questioned in annoyance, Tony really hoped that pressing her buttons in a certain way would get Natasha to snap out of her trance, but no muscles were in the process of moving.

To be honest, it was getting on Tony's nerves, he was talking to a deadly assassin, not a wall. He just wanted some sort of reaction, a twitch, a sneeze, a rampage to destroy the whole world, planning his funeral...wow, that went downhill really fast. If Tony wanted a two-way conversation, he's going to have play dirty, might get him killed, but if Natasha hasn't even lifted a finger after all he's already said, it won't make much of a difference. He needed to say what needed to be said, and if Tony was only going to be talking to a wall, he might as well get what he needed to say all out at once. He had to say it, because it might just be enough to push Natasha over the edge, and she finally wake up and come to her senses.

"Okay, fine, you wanna know my opinion?" There was no turning back now. "I think you're being a coward." Tony didn't even check to see if what he was saying, had caused a reaction on Natasha. Once the ball got rolling he couldn't stop it. He didn't even care if this was going to make her made mad, because he knew that it was the only thing that was going to work. "You're letting your emotions dictate your actions, and it's getting no one nowhere." Tony was speaking the truth entirely, most people would've probably used a far more delicate touch to the situation-but it's the Black Widow-he knows Natasha can handle it. "We haven't been called out into the field, yet, but soon we will; and whether you like it or not, this thing between you and Bruce-will cause inference." That might be pushing the truth just a little. Bruce and Natasha are professional enough, and also, Bruce doesn't go out into the field. But he still plays the third eye and overlooks the field from a screen, and he is in all team meetings, and if the trust is off by even a little bit, it could knock the whole course off balance. "Now, we can play the blissful ignorance card, and pretend we're as blind as a bat to the problem, or you can go up to the lab where he is right now and face the big, green problem head on." They could ignore this and pretend it never happened, but that won't make the problem disappear, and this needs to be dealt with and put this behind them. It was clearly wrecking Bruce, Tony could see it everyday in the lab, even though Bruce would never mention it, this thing between the two of them was becoming a major issue, and if not worked out-it will become catastrophic.

Tony knew without even a second glance, that Natasha was still frozen. Her mind must still be fiddling through all of this information, but he really thought it would have all been fiddled out by now. But clearly, he was wrong, since Natasha looked like something out of the Versailles' Gardens, maybe the Reaper. Tony decided to add one last quick notion for her to work out, and maybe it will actually get her motor running. "So, what's it going to be?" He questioned. "Keep playing 'make believe' and pretend everything's alright, while Bruce runs amok every time you're within a noticeable proximity?" That-under no circumstances-cannot happen, it would be absolute chaos. There's already been a noticeable shift in the air for the last week, imagine for a life time? No, this has to be fixed. "Or are you actually going to go him-like we both know you will because you're not a coward-and face up?" Tony's known Natasha long enough to know that 'coward' is the exact opposite description of her, it has been proved many, many times over, and over again. This wasn't a surefire way, though, but it was the only way that he could think of, because Natasha might never go to face Bruce head on, but the overwhelming sense of intuition said something different. That she was going to be as stubborn as possible and go against the voice in her head, and finally talk to Bruce.

Tony just hoped he was right about the gut feeling, because Natasha didn't move.

Not a single muscle twitched.

She made no movement forward, backward, left or right, she just stayed in her exact spot. Natasha's eyes didn't even blink, and it looked extremely uncomfortable to stay like that, but they did keep staring which made this moment of pure waiting even worse. For a moment, Tony nearly felt the word 'Medusa' slip from his tongue but he managed to hold it back, it would probably just make things worse.

The seconds that went by felt like they were turning into hours, an unending vortex of time spiraling into nothingness. That gut feeling, the intensity of intuition in Tony's bones kept slipping with each passing second, it was withering away into dust as they went further into their moment of silence, and waiting.

 _It's pointless,_ Tony thought. They were going to have to come to each other on their own terms , no one was going to force them into anything.

But then something changed.

Tony must've been pressing the wrong buttons in the right order, because the next words from Natasha's mouth were, "Not bad, Stark." and then she simply turned and left the training center.

To state the obvious, Tony was shocked, he was surprised to the point where he took on Natasha's role and became as stiff as a statue just out of pure shock. He had no idea what to do, he no idea what just happened. Was is good? Was it bad? What just the heck just happened? Should he be afraid for his life? A million thoughts ran through Tony's and it paralyzed his body.

 _Uh..._

* * *

It was a march. A march to the line of war. Maybe the march of death.

Natasha kept putting one foot in front of the other, all the while cursing the name that is Tony Stark for managing to actually talk her into to doing this. She silently listened to words that came out of his mouth-no-she _forced_ herself to listen to him. All Natasha wanted to do-was run, get as far away as she could because knew Tony was right, he was right about all of it. He was right about her being a coward, he was about the fact the this rift between her and Bruce will cause problems in the field. Natasha was being a coward, she was letting her own petty, little fear, control her; something that she thought would never happen to her, fear didn't warp her mind in Manhattan two years ago, or during Budapest. But her mind was definitely being warped right now, it was absolutely pathetic. Natasha wanted him to be wrong, but Tony was so-frigging-right that it hurt her teeth. She just wished she came to the conclusion herself that she needed to talk to Bruce, and not have lived through the humiliation of Tony doing it for her; but what's done is done, there's no turning back now.

As soon as Tony finished his little speech Natasha found her strength in pure will, and moved as quickly-but calmly-as she could, if she slowed her pace-by even a little bit-that would give her time to think, to hesitate, to regret, to run. So, she she didn't slow down, she took the stairs, because if Natasha took the elevator she would slow down, and then all of that stuff would happen. She practically flew up the stairs, letting all of those years of training come to good use. Natasha went up to perch, to perch, to perch, but it was taking her a lot further than she thought, her muscles were nearly on fire by how far she was pushing herself. The constant running and pure fear of slowing down, gave Natasha a rush of adrenaline that spiked her to run even faster-if possible. But the staircase still seemed to go on forever, and ever, a never ending vortex of constant stairs going up, and up, and up. Even at this rate of going freaking super speed, it was giving her time to think, since it was taking so long, it was giving Natasha time for her mind to catch up with what was going on, and what she was doing, which was not good. The floor to the lab could not come soon enough, because she needed to do this, she was not about to chicken out, not happening.

 _Wait a second..._

All of a sudden, it hit Natasha on why the run to the lab was taking so long.

The lab is in the penthouse, the top floor, and the training center? It's in the basement.

 _Crap..._

No wonder this was taking forever. I mean, Natasha is at the peak of physical fitness, has been for as long as she can remember; but taking the stairs for 98 floors, is going to make her break a sweat, or two. It's going to take way too long, long enough to make her think, which is the exact opposite of what she should do, because she won't talk herself into it-well, talk herself into it more-she talk herself out of it, and Natasha wasn't about to do that, she will not back down.

Natasha slowed to a hesitant stop, she didn't want to, but she had to formulate a plan, and she needed to gather all information and detail to make a plan. The muscles in her legs were rather grateful for the stop, they felt like they were about to fall off, she sucked in the glorious air that she was deprived of. Her chest heaved in and out, shifting in size with each breath, it was nice, but she couldn't stop for long. Natasha turned her head to see what floor she was on, to see how much farther she had to go.

 _35th._

She made good footing, had a lot of dust behind her, but the it was still too much to go on foot, it would take way too much time. Time Natasha does not have. So, she did what any sane person would do-if sane meant being absolutely twisted-she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a silver cylinder. It wouldn't mean much to the untrained eye, but if you looked closely enough, you would see the little button on one end of the cylinder. Natasha held it in her hand over the railing, vertically, and pressed the tiny button. All of a sudden, a small hole opened up on the other end and out came shooting a grappling hook that went far enough to hit the ceiling that was still 63 floors away.

There was a little switch on the side of the cylinder, Natasha flicked it and everything was set in motion. She went flying like a bird through the stairwell, zipping past every floor with speed only seen outdoors with an engine. For a second, Natasha thought she was going so fast that she would make a hole through the roof...actually, that would be a really great way to press Stark's buttons, but that's not the most pressing matter at hand; just a bonus. Thankfully, there was no blowing through roofs, she stopped right before. It was the understatement of the year to say that Natasha's hair was a little out of place, it's like she just stood behind a tractor and waited for the wind to pick up drastically. She could just fix it later, though. She swung her body backwards, and shifted her weight just enough so she would swing forward over to the railing and land back on the concrete footing; all the while simultaneously pressing the button on the end of the cylinder so the hook would release itself from the ceiling.

When landing on the platform, Natasha swiftly took a few seconds to straighten out her hair, smoothing out all of the clumps and pulling the blood, red strands out of her face. She couldn't spend another second to slow down, so as soon as she landed she made a b-line for the door, she already took more than enough time to get up there, not another second could be wasted. Natasha opened the door so fast that it nearly came off it's hinges. She didn't use the main stairwell-the one with all of the windows-she used the one that's closer towards the center of the Tower, and because of that, when Natasha opened the door she was already in the labs which is a very good thing. No time to waste.

She ran down the hall as quickly as her feet could carry her. It wasn't a long run, because pretty soon, she was at the entry way of the lab, where the lab was, where Bruce was just down the hall; and that's when her feet stopped working. Natasha's muscles went cold, her breathing was somehow steady, and rapid at the same time. Just the thought of meeting with Bruce, of settling the ground, nearly sent her heart to a flat line. Natasha thought she could do this, she went up 98 floors with such confidence, and now...she couldn't bring herself to move. She looked down at her feet to see if maybe they just disappeared, no reason, just disappeared, because if her feet were gone, it would be a more reasonable explanation that just not being able to do it. Natasha was wrong. Her feet were still there, attached to her legs just like they were suppose to be. She just simply didn't have the energy to do it, her feet would not move, not even her head would listen to her commands to look straight ahead instead of at the floor, looking like a freaking idiot...a coward.

 _I think you're being a coward._

Of course. That had to have popped into her head. Stark couldn't leave her alone for more than five seconds. Usually, something like that would push Natasha into warp speed. No way would she ever let Tony believe she was a coward, no way would she ever let anyone believe that. But for some reason, it did absolutely nothing for her, he feet did not move, it didn't even cross her mind to push forward in that moment. Natasha just lost all energy, no explanation, it just simply...vanished. It was amazing, a part of her didn't give a crap that Tony labeled her as a coward, she's been called worse.

Why try and fix it? Who cares that she's afraid of the Hulk? Bruce is just as much as afraid of Natasha, the last few days have been clearly evident of that. It's not like she could go in there just make everything magically better, it doesn't work like that. She's not a purple dinosaur. It would be more than pointless to even try, nothing would work, it's just a waste of her time.

This sucks.

 _You're letting your emotions dictate your actions, and it's getting no one nowhere._

Oh, come-freaking-on!

This is absolutely ridiculous. Natasha shouldn't standing on the side lines, just letting the darkness take over-well, take over more-she shouldn't be cowering in the corner. She should never, ever hear Tony Stark inside her head, there's already been enough emotional damage. It's even worse when she agrees with him, pretty soon this will start effecting the team out in the field, which is where everyone has to have their head on straight. This sucks! Which means Natasha really does have to go in there, to repair the damage. if only she could move her feet. Hearing Stark inside her head should be motivation enough, but it's not.

This is so pathetic. She's built for stronger than this, something like the Hulk was never suppose to scare her off. But she is, and she hates it. Natasha hates it more than herself. She doesn't want to be afraid anymore, she can try and fool herself, but it would only make matters worse. She doesn't want to fear Bruce anymore, she doesn't want to fear the Hulk anymore. It's so tiring, it's been taking up her whole day. But even if Natasha does manage to bring herself to go in there, how is she going to get Bruce to listen to her? He's been avoiding her like the plague.

 _Ding._

There's her ticket.

It almost as if someone was watching her, because right at that moment, the elevators 'dinged' open, and Bruce walked right out. He clearly didn't notice Natasha or else there would be tread marks, and his head was buried into a tablet, going over statistics and stuff. She couldn't handle being afraid anymore, she was tired of it. So, Natasha decided to end it, end being afraid, end hiding away from each other, end it all. But there was still the nagging problem of she would get Bruce to sit still long enough to listen to her.

Light bulb. What if he _doesn't_ have a choice?

The feeling in Natasha's legs come back rather quickly, from the top of her head, all the way to her toes, and she made her move. "Alright, that's it," Natasha muttered under her breath, too quiet for Bruce to hear. She was not going to be afraid anymore, enough is enough.

Natasha moved quickly, but quietly, towards Bruce. She grabbed his arm with enough force to bruise. That definitely caught him off guard, "Wha-" He couldn't make anymore noise just out of pure confusion as Natasha dragged Bruce along the hallway with just the pull of his arm. He knew better than to protest, because it looked like she was on a warpath and stopping her would just make things worse. Plus also, in the state of confusion Bruce wasn't sure what to do at all. He was just minding his own business, going over some data, and then all of a sudden this happened. This Tower gets weirder everyday.

Natasha dragged Bruce with a vengeance, this whole thing between the two of them was ending, once and for all. She just couldn't take it anymore, she couldn't take the hiding, giving into her fears, being a coward, she didn't have the energy to handle anymore. Natasha pulled Bruce along until they reached the workshop area of the lab, once they were there she shoved him ahead of her with a rather forceful push out of pure anger, Bruce stumbled ahead by only a few feet. He turned around to finally look at Natasha, hoping that she would give him an answer as to what the heck is going on, and he was only met with a cold, hard, tired stare.

Bruce could've snapped at her, yelling 'what the heck are you doing?' but the look on her face stopped him, she was here for a reason and she wasn't going to leave until she got what she wanted. Bruce didn't have it in him to stop her, Natasha looked surprisingly worn out. Dragging a man across a distance with no warning of who can also turn into the Hulk, meant that whatever she wanted to say was really important to her. So, Bruce stayed put, even though his entire being was screaming at him to leave, to run, and never look back. But he was very used to his insides having a different opinion, so he just politely told them to shut up.

Bruce patiently waited for her to say something, but all she did was keep heaving her chest in and out, but it wasn't out of exhaustion, it was out of frustration. Bruce knew, because he recognized, he knew it, he felt it, he has done that exact same movement many times over. The anger was so intense that literally took his breath away. Bruce still just waited for her to say something, but he had to admit, it was a tad bit awkward. After about fifteen seconds of silence, he decided to speak up. "I don't have my wallet on me." He quietly joked, hoping to lighten the mood, but all Natasha did was raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Sorry..." Bruce muttered sheepishly. "It was sorta uncomfortable in here, I was trying to lighten the mood." Her expression didn't change, but after the 'joke' the air felt a little heavier, and Bruce wanted to smack himself. _Idiot._ "Apparently, I'm not very funny," Bruce said more to himself than to Natasha, he does that a lot.

A thousand words were stuck on her tongue, some were rather intense-actually, all were intense. Natasha wanted to scream what was wrong, she wanted to punch something, tear everything apart, maybe just walk away and blame this whole thing on...the flu? No, that would never work. So, Natasha just to say it all at once, dive into the deep end with no life rafter. "I'm afraid of the Hulk." She tries to come of in a casual manner, but it kind of fails, her voice is all breathy from the strain of anger, the force from holding back her screams.

Of course. Bruce isn't sure why he didn't think of it sooner. It makes so much sense. No wonder why she dragged him by the arm. A pure force of adrenaline. Steve was right. Natasha was facing her fear head on, and clearly wasn't letting anything get in her way. But now learning that, it sort just thing even more uncomfortable, if that was even possible. "Okay..." Bruce slowly drew out. What else was he suppose to say?

"And I'm afraid of you." Natasha just letting everything come barreling out, no point in stopping it now. Bruce's face of confusion, a being partly uncomfortable didn't change, but something in his eyes slightly shifted, and Natasha knew that he was slightly horrified, and also not, like he was comforted by this fact, and it horrified him; if that makes any sense, because it doesn't. "I wish I wasn't, but I am." It was pathetic. A child's fear. She's the Black Widow for crying out loud, something like the Hulk shouldn't cause her to tremble in her boots, but it does. Natasha tried for the longest time, convinced herself that she wasn't afraid, that nothing bothered her; but she can't anymore. She was going to face her fear head on, literally.

"Well..." Mark this down the record, this is a conversation Bruce never thought he would have. Talking to someone about their fear of the Hulk, and said someone has been attack by the Hulk. Pretty sure talking a suicide bomber out of pressing the trigger would be an easier task. But here they are, going with the flow has never been Bruce's strong suit. "You're handling this better than most," That's the over statement of the year. "Usually people who've been squandered by the other guy's grotesquely, over sized feet...I never see again, for an abundant amount of reasons." They're dead, terrified...dead. No one's ever had the balls to go up and see him willingly on their own. This never should've happened, this isn't a possibility; but it's happening, and he has no idea how to handle it. Bruce had a hard enough time just getting those words out of his mouth, his brain practically fried in this situation. He is almost always tongue tied-being a very anti-social man-but this is just awful. There aren't exactly any books on 'how to talk to someone your alter ego almost killed.'

"It's still pathetic." Natasha barely muttered out. It was nice that Bruce was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but it doesn't change the fact that she was being a coward. She was acting like a child who was afraid of a thunderstorm and was hiding under the covers.

How on Earth was being afraid of the Hulk pathetic? It's not, it's sensible. It's smart to be afraid of the thing that could possibly kill you, that could crush you without even breaking a sweat. But then of course, it's Natasha, she judges herself on a higher scale than most, she pushes herself to the breaking point and the jumps 2 miles ahead. She doesn't let herself be afraid, she managed to handle herself just fine around Bruce for two years with no problem, only because she was fooling herself, then the gates opened all at once. Two years of pent up fear came barreling out at once, that's pretty intense. "I have something that can level cities underneath my skin," Bruce could very well just start listing all the reasons about how wrong Natasha is, but if he just starts belting it out, she might not stick around to listen. At first, it might have sounded really good that she would leave, but now...it's clear that she wants her fear to end; and even though, Bruce could think of all the reasons that she should keep her fear, let it save her. But they are teammates now, they have to trust each other, or ironically, someone could get really hurt, and the list of cons extremely outweighs the pros. "And you gave no warning as you grabbed me by the arm, dragged me across the lab, and physically shoved me three feet." Bruce wasn't looking for an apology or something, the man's got thicker skin than that. It was just a simple fact, to prove a point. "I don't think you're afraid as you think you are." No way could someone that has a bone fear of him, could possibly do all the things that Natasha just. It's possible that only Natasha could do those things, practically provoking something that tried to kill you. In a way, it almost makes sense, she lives her life on the cliff between fear and death.

Natasha just made an incredulous noise from her throat, like she didn't believe a word that Bruce just said. He didn't see were entire body just froze on contact when she made the floor of the lab, he wasn't there when she had a nightmare of the guy that made her wake up in cold sweats. The only time they've really seen each other so far, is when they accidentally ran into each other in the stairwell...then nothing. Natasha's afraid, pure and simple as that.

"Okay..." Of course, convincing her like that, it would be far too easy. Bruce just has to put in a little more elbow grease. "Well, maybe you are pretty terrified," He remembered when they met in the stairwell, he had never seen Natasha so terrified. Not during the fight of New York, not going against twelve armed men with nothing but her fists. In that moment, it was pure, unadulterated fear. When he said that, she didn't even flinch. Bruce thought saying Natasha was scared of anything, would've had him meeting her fist...repeatedly. But nothing, like at this point she had no reason to care. "But I think this round, pure will outweighed that fear." When Natasha grabbed his arm, Bruce had never seen her with such a look of determination. It was nothing but her will and strength, pushing her to do this. It was honestly a little terrifying.

For a moment, Natasha had honestly no idea how to respond. She never expected Bruce to put it quite like that, she certainly never expected him to be so blunt. It was kind of refreshing to be honest, no one was holding back, and yet, no one was hashing out...well, expect for Natasha, she was definitely hashing all of it out. It was all held in for a week, a week too long, but it reality, it was all held in for two years, for seven hundred and thirty days; far too long, and it nearly blew her apart. At least now Natasha doesn't have to hold it in anymore, she let it all out, and it wasn't as horrifying as she thought it would be. She didn't exactly have a clear picture of how it would go, but she definitely didn't imagine it to be so clean cut. But I guess, it makes sense, Bruce was just as terrified of this situation as Natasha was, he's been avoiding her like crazy for weeks. In a way, it was almost easier to have this conversation when knowing that the recipient of it all, was just as scared, or even more.

It was weird, but Natasha didn't find herself so very uncomfortable all of a sudden. It wasn't by much, but she didn't have this impending feeling of running away out of terror. The adrenaline had already left her system, Natasha thought as soon as that happened she would be screwed over, but she was wrong. Her heart rate slowed down, her breathing evened out, she was no longer sweating like crazy. The adrenaline was gone, and she calmed down, turns out, the rush of it all, had nothing to do with her staying.

It was just...not so scary anymore. Natasha wanted to show Bruce that she didn't feel so utterly terrified, that she wasn't the prowl, or coming off as a predator. So, she began to move around, she just started aimlessly walking about the workshop. There was some little trinket-thingy that she had no idea what it did, Natasha picked it up and twirled it around her hands before putting it back down. Doing this, it also seemed to cause Bruce to relax, because the tension in his shoulders disappeared, and his breathing became normal, and he leaned against the desk and crossed his arms instead of staying in the frozen, wary-to-move-a-muscle position. "I guess that's one way of putting it." Natasha muttered while not looking at him, what Bruce was saying, was beyond putting it softly, she was being a coward, she doesn't deserve softness. She just wants all of this to be put behind them, it's screwing everyone up.

"It's the only way to put it." Bruce quickly assured her. There really wasn't any other way to look at it, Natasha was afraid, but she refused to let that fear hold her down, so she didn't. It really was quite simple. Besides...Bruce was the one who put her in the position of fear in the first place, if anyone is to blame in the situation, it's him. Well, if we're being specific it would actually be the other guy, but he's never been one to apologize for his actions, that burden has always been placed on Bruce's shoulders. It was all his fault, but it was clearly evident that Natasha really hated herself for being afraid, which was really just plain stupid. It wasn't cowardly to be afraid of the other guy, it was smart. Why doesn't she see that? If he was never on that helicarrier, this never would've happened. Sometimes, Bruce really just wants to blame Natasha, it would be so much easier to blame someone else for once, but that's not fair, it wasn't her fault, it was his. Bruce was the one who decided to go with her, he's the one that got angry, he's the one who forced Natasha's hand to pull out the gun. It was all because of him. He let out a sigh, "I'm so-"

"Stop." Natasha stopped Bruce's apology with a single word and a raised hand. She refused to let him apologize for this, because as much as she feared the other guy, she knows that none of it was Bruce's fault, his hands are clean, it's the other guy's that aren't. "You're not going to apologize for that." No one should have to burden something that wasn't done by them, everyone already has so much to shoulder, and no one should ever have to carry something like this. "It wasn't your fault." Natasha told Bruce sharply, but softly while putting her hand back down.

"Please," Bruce barely got that word out through his breath. He had to to do this. "You have to let me do this." He needed to apologize. He already did once before, but that was in the middle of the war zone, and that was before he knew how truly terrified Natasha was. He had to apologize again because of it all, she was afraid because of him. Natasha opened her mouth and was about to intercept, say that wasn't true, but it was, and Bruce cut her off. "We could have an hour long argument, going back and forth about who's to blame; but I need to do this," They were going to living together in the same exact building, working on the same exact team, it was going to destroy Bruce from the inside living with someone who was nearly killed by the other guy; but a simple apology might help, might not, but it can't possibly make the situation worse. "Or else it's going to eat me."

Natasha looked into Bruce's eyes, to see what he was truly thinking, because the eyes never lie, you can try to cover them up, but the truth always seems to slip through them. When she looked into them, she saw fear, guilt, horror...a painted tragedy, then she realized something, Bruce wasn't doing this for Natasha, he was doing it for himself. Natasha couldn't very well say that, because he would deny that, say it that would be selfish. But it's not, the guilt was eating him alive, it has been for years, not just this on instance, but all of them, every single death, and it was breaking him down, she could see in his eyes. Natasha knew all to well what that guilt felt like, how it can wreck a person, and if this could lighten the load by even a little bit, she would be willing.

So, that's exactly what she did. Natasha made a flick of her wrist, as a way to say 'continue.'

Wow. Bruce honestly didn't expect her to agree to this, he knows she can be extremely stubborn, but that was actually pretty easy. But now what? What the heck was he suppose to say to the person who the other guy almost killed? He's apologized for destruction and stuff like that, but never directly to a person that survived his very green fists. Bruce has no idea what he should do, he's never thought that far ahead, he never even thought he would be in this position in the first place. "I'm..." There was a million things on Bruce's tongue and in his mind, and nothing at all. "Sorry." It was the only thing he could think of to say, an oldie, but a goodie. One word to describe one thousand of them, one word to put all of the thing he wanted to say in...one word. It was all he could say.

Natasha just quirked an eyebrow at that. The man came up with this entire mini speech. Practically begged her to apologize for something that happened two years ago. And that was it? Sorry? Wow...okay. It's good. Not what she expected, but okay. It works.

"Sorry," Bruce said with a hint of a smile. "It was all I could think of to say." He said truthfully. "I mean what else could I say, 'sorry my alter ego tried to kill you'?" He sarcastically asked. Natasha let the smallest, breathy chuckle at that. Which caused Bruce's smile to grow just a little bit. The atmosphere surprisingly felt calmer, and more breathable after that.

"Apology accepted." Natasha said with a little smirk. And for some reason, Bruce almost looked surprised by what she said. It was like he was surprised that someone could ever forgive him for the actions caused by the Hulk, even though he had nothing to do with it. It wasn't his burden to bare, yet he was taking all of it. Natasha nearly took on a surprised look in return but she managed to hold it back, and kept her reassuring smirk on. Why would he be shocked by this? She already accepted the first apology two years ago, but I guess that was before Natasha even realized that she was afraid of the Hulk. Still...Bruce hasn't done anything wrong, and then later that day the other guy saved New York, and caught Tony falling from the sky. "Although not necessary." She added, and Bruce's look of surprise morphed into the same look he wore when apologized the first at the Battle of New York, and she said 'we could use a little worse.'

For two years they've avoided each other, distance themselves from another, wanted nothing to do with the other one. Yet here they are, talking, and it's not uncomfortable, it's not horrifying, no one is running away, and not out of obligation, but just purely because they don't want to. It's not perfect, still needs some work, but surprisingly okay. It's a nice change from what's been happening, but it doesn't change what happened, it doesn't change the fact that Natasha was a coward, nothing changed about the fact they they've avoided each other for two years. "I wish we could just put this behind us." She broke the silence with a long, tired sigh.

Natasha looked at Bruce-and even though he didn't say anything-she knew that he was thinking the exact same thing. It was tiring this whole shtick between, and for something that happened two years, it was absolutely ridiculous. This whole thing should just go away, leave it behind in the past where it belongs. Wait a second..."Why don't we?" Natasha didn't even realize she said that out loud, she muttered under her breath but it still caught the attention of Bruce who just looked at her in confusion. But she cleared it up rather quickly. Natasha stuck her hand, like she was waiting for him to shake it. "Hi, I don't believe we've met. Natasha Romanoff." Why don't they just physically put this behind? Start fresh. There is no reason why they can't. It's just easier this way. Erase everything from the past, where no one attacked on the helicarrier, and nobody avoided another.

To say that Bruce was surprised and confused by this notion, would be an understatement. It was shock enough when Natasha actually forgave him for what the Hulk did to her. But now this? A physical representation of starting over? A clean slate? If anything, Bruce just expected a good slap in the face. It's never happened before, no one's ever had the...stupidity? To slap the man who holds the Hulk, but Natasha just push him, so who's to say she wouldn't do that. But never an outstretched hand, a second chance. Suffice to say, this is new. But is this news good, or bad? Bruce certainly doesn't deserve this second chance, and it's being handed to him on a silver platter from the last person he would ever expect to give him a second chance.

But then again...

If the one person who should've never given him a chance at a clean slate-at least of this one incident-was beyond willingly doing it without a clear doubt, then maybe...? Bruce will never, ever deserve something like this, but if one person of this two person situation was wanting to move and put it behind them, then maybe he should just let it happen.

 _Screw it._ Bruce outstretched his hand and grabbed onto Natasha's. "Miss Romanoff." He said in greetings. "Dr. Bruce Banner." He said with the smallest of shakes, and then he let go of her hand, and brushed his against his shirt. Bruce has never really been one for any kind of physical contact.

That was that. It was behind them. A fresh start. It's kind of nice, to be honest. Natasha noticed how uncomfortable Bruce felt with shaking hands, and she had to hold back a chuckle at the sight of it, she was about to let go to relieve him of the awkwardness, but he did it before her with quite a speed and he brushed his hand against his shirt to get rid of what? Sweat? But for some reason, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. For the last couple of minutes the tension slowly began to leave the space between the two of them, but there was still something there. But now...it felt completely normal, no tension, nothing uncomfortable, no awkwardness, just...them. The hand thing could've tipped Natasha off that maybe that's not true, but Bruce does that with everyone, it's just his thing, he doesn't really like touching people, keeps himself secluded.

Natasha had only one thing left to say, "See ya around, Doc." And with the turn of her heel, she promptly left knowing she would have one less thing to worry about in her day.


End file.
